


when our world turns upside down

by Love_you_a_latte



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dead People, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Humor, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader is Sassy, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, i update when I can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 08:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 26,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_you_a_latte/pseuds/Love_you_a_latte
Summary: When Sam Wilson, the new Captain America asked you to find someone for him, you agreed. Maybe because it felt good to do something for the right reasons, or maybe because of the check he put in your hands. Either way, you find yourself on the trail of a serial killer vigilante. But when a face from your past shows up to help, you're not sure if you can cope with the painful memories that he seems to have no recollection of.When you saw Bucky Barnes for the first time in years, it took every ounce of self control not to shoot him where he stood. But memories are fuzzy, and those blue eyes had a way of softening every heart.Maybe you should have never taken this job. But you were too stubborn to give up on it, even if that meant working with your best friend's murderer to solve a cold case.





	1. The File

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Avengers: Endgame. So, if you haven't seen it yet, read at your own risk.

You weren't sure what you had been expecting when you agreed to meet a mystery man in a warehouse somewhere in upstate New York, but it certainly wasn't making a deal with Sam Wilson, the new Captain America. And, without a doubt, you would have never guessed he needed your help.

"So why the hell do you need _me_?" You asked, staring at the check he had just given you.

"Look, as much as I would love to catch this guy myself, I don't have the time. This Captain America thing isn't as easy as it looks." 

You raised your eyebrow, and crossed your arms, mirroring his wide stance.

"So, saving the world gets a little too rough for you and you give the job to someone else?" You couldn't believe you were suddenly so cheeky around _the_ Captain America. Maybe it was the sudden power you felt; the fact that he needed your help. Maybe it was the three thousand dollar check in your hands.

"Well how about you try being this country's symbol for a while? See how getting shot at every few minutes suits you?"

You threw your hands up in surrender, relaxing your shoulders. You needed this money, and there was no reason to lose it over a little spat. However, it was the middle of June, and the temperature in this un-air-conditioned building was beginning to get on your nerves.

"I'm just messing with you. Finding it funny that you can't locate a little vigilante, is all." 

He shook his head amusedly, before pulling out a file folder from the satchel under his arm. He handed it to you, and you took it, asking, "What's this?"

"It's everything we have on him. Every clue, every piece of evidence. If there's any information on him, it's in this folder."

You nodded, and began to open it before he stopped you.

"Not now. Do it when you have time to sit down and read. I need to get moving, but I'll stay in touch. See you around." 

And with those last words, he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket, popped them over his eyes, and strolled out of the warehouse. You followed soon after, and climbed into your little black Mazda. Once inside with the AC blasting, you opened the unsurprisingly thin folder. Inside were three photos, two court summons, and what looked like a written testimony from a Mrs. Henshaw. You closed the folder, and slipped it under the car seat. You doubted anyone really cared about this case, other than the man you were looking for; however, you had found that it was always good to play it safe. And so, remaining as cautious as ever, you parked somewhere different in your apartment complex's lot than your usual spot. It was a longer walk, but you could use the exercise anyway.

When you arrived at your apartment, you closed the door before dropping your keys on the dresser next to you. You had a simple, two-room apartment with an old red sofa, a TV, and a coffee table as the only furniture. Everything else was in boxes that lined the walls, stacked on top of each other because you knew they'd never be opened. It was easier to leave them that way in case you had to move again. Paranoia was a bitch, but it kept you alive.

Your kitchen was to the right of the living room, and it had a little island with some bar stools that had been drilled into the ground by the building's owners, who no doubt had had their complimentary furniture stolen. And to the left of your living room was the door to your bedroom, which only had a bed and a dresser and some more boxes. 

You sighed, setting the folder on the kitchen island while you took your shoes off and began to heat your tea kettle. Maybe it was a bit old fashioned, but the kettle was your father's before he left, and for some reason you felt a strong attachment to it.

As you were sitting at the island, your phone buzzed. It was Sam Wilson, so you quickly picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey (Y/N). I know you got this covered, but a friend of mine needs something to do, so I'm sending him over. I was thinking you two could work together?"

"Look, Mr. Wilson, I appreciate the job, but I work alone. I can't have anyone getting in the way, no matter how competent your friend may be," you replied, frustration already rearing it's head.

"Yeah, but this guy knows what he's doing. I gave him your fake name, you know, 'Elizabeth'? So he has no idea who you really are. Just do this for me and I may have a little extra for you after this job is done."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Sam sounded about as pleased with the arrangement as you were, but that didn't change the fact that this new development really put a wrench in your plans.

"Fine. But if he gets shot, it's not on me."

"Thank you. He'll stop by your apartment so you can talk everything out. Keep me updated."

"Alright," you grumbled, hanging up the phone. Before you could open the file he had given you, your kettle went off. You got back up again, slumped over to the counter, and poured the hot water into your mug. Reaching into your overhead cupboard, you pulled some chamomile tea out, and plopped the bag into your cup. Finally, you sat down again, and opened the folder. 

First, you began reading the written testimony. You were about halfway through it, sipping your tea quietly, when your peace was interrupted by a knock at the door. You ignored it. Except that, moments later, the knock came again. So, you pulled yourself off the stool, closed the file, and dragged your feet towards the door. But as you peered through the keyhole, you got a sudden burst of adrenaline. You knew that face. 

You reached inside the dresser by the door,  pulled out a small pistol, and loaded it. Slowly, carefully, you undid the five locks on your door. Before your visitor had time to react, you had swung the door open, and aimed your gun at his forehead. When you opened your mouth, your voice was dripping with venom.

"What are you doing here?"


	2. You'd Be Dead, Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You encounter a painful memory in the form of Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of proud of this chapter. I know the first one was a bit boring, so hopefully this will make up for it.

 

 

 

"You're Elizabeth, right?" Your visitor asked, his deep brown hair falling over his face. It took you a minute to recognize your fake name. It had been awhile since you used it.

 "What does it matter to you?" You could barely keep your voice from shaking. You only hoped that he wouldn't notice.

 "Sam sent me over."

 "What?" You were shocked. The Winter Soldier was Wilson's friend?

Sure, you had seen the news, but the fact that Captain America trusted a Hydra agent enough to send him to your apartment made you rethink this job. If you hadn't been so pissed, you might have asked more questions, but you needed to use all of your remaining control to not put a bullet through his skull.

 "Sam told me to help you find somebody. I'm here to help."

 You shook your head in disbelief.

 "And he honestly thought I'd let you into my home? Like nothing ever happened? Like you didn't murder my best friend?" Your whole body was trembling now. You had lost your cool. And you so badly wanted to make him pay for what he did, but his expression changed to one of confusion, then realization, then a type grief you had never seen on any person's face before. He looked at the floor in shame. Your arm faltered.

 "I'm...so sorry." His voice was barely audible, and he sounded so... lost.

But he had been a weapon. A spy. An assassin. And you wouldn't let his acting skills convince you.

 "You're sorry? _Sorry_?"

When he looked you in the eyes again, his tough-guy façade was back. He seemed determined, resolute. But more than anything, he looked like he was bracing himself for some sort of attack.

 "I am. I had no idea who you were. But I'm here to help you, because Sam told me to. And because you're gonna need help catching this guy, whether you like it or not," he stated, as calmly as if nothing had happened.

 "Stay there," you replied, stepping slowly away, gun still aimed at his head, until your back was against your kitchen island. You grabbed your phone.

 "Hey Google, call Sam Wilson."

 "Calling Sam Wilson."

 You stood there, staring at each other, waiting for Sam to pick up. The only sounds were the dialing of your phone and your heavy breathing. You could cut the tension with a knife.

 "Hello?" You could hear Wilson's voice on speaker, which sent a fresh wave of frustration through you.

 "You sent the damn Winter Soldier to my apartment? When you said you'd send someone to help me, I thought it'd be a rookie police officer or something, not this shit."

 There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and you could hear Sam sigh. You kept your eyes on the assassin standing in your doorway.

 "His name is Bucky. And he's a friend. What Hydra did is in the past now; I trust him with my life. He's good guy, Elizabeth."

 "A good guy? For someone who spent years on the run with him, you seem to know very little about his past."

 "Woman, I know every documented thing about his past. But that's exactly what it is; his past. Now do you want this job, or not?"

 If you were being honest, you felt like crying. Nothing made sense. You had seen him shoot her. You had seen that metal arm drag her body away. You had seen everything. It didn't make sense.

But you had made a deal. And you weren't going to let your emotions get in the way of that.

 "Fine. But I'm suing you if he does kill me in my sleep." You heard a chuckle at the end of the line.

 "Pretty sure you'd be dead, sweetheart."

You hung up, choosing to deal with the solider in your apartment rather than have another spat with Captain America.

You lowered your gun, and stuck it in the waist band of your dark jeans.

 "You can come in now," you mumbled, fingers curled around the countertop to keep yourself from lashing out and fighting probably the first person on this side of the country who could beat you in a fight.

He stepped in cautiously, and you could see the gears in his brain turning. He scanned everything. And when his eyes landed on your knives that sat in their wooden case on the counter, you wondered how many ways he'd already figured out how to kill you.

He stalked to the stool across from you, and sat down before folding his hands on the island. Keeping them where you could see them. Interesting.

You turned around, facing the kitchen now, and grabbed a notepad from across the island, clicking the pen that had been resting on it. With a flick of your wrist, you opened the file folder in front of you. You wrote down what was at the top of the testimony:

 "Louisa Henshaw

320 73rd Avenue, Queens, NY"

 You ripped the note from it's pad, and stepped across the room to grab your keys.

 "We already have the testimony. Why do you need to see her?" The Soldier asked. But it was as if he already knew the answer. Like he was testing you to see if you got it correct. But you didn't need his gold star sticker.

"Come on. There's no way I'm leaving you in my apartment."

 

______________

 

_Your heels clicked on the gum-splattered pavement as you hurried to catch up with Michelle. You had told her to wait; it was too dangerous this time of night. The light drizzle formed little dark dots on your red dress, and the fog formed droplets on your skin. It was cold. But you couldn't let something happen to her. You were her only line of defense in case a creeper decided she looked a little too good in that purple dress._

_The air was still. It was so quiet. So cold. But when you got to the end of the block, you stopped. Something was wrong. Very wrong._

_There were no cars on 45th, which never happened. But then, the echoes of heels hitting pavement could finally be heard above your breathing as someone around the corner walked farther on. It must have been Michelle. So you took a step forward._

_That's when you heard the gunshot._

_It's wasn't a gunshot, really. More like a_ thunk. _But when you peered around the edge of the building, you could see the body lying there, deep purple growing dark with blood. And there he was._

_He stood there, staring at the dead woman in front of him. The light of a street lamp  reflected off something on his sleeve and it wasn't until he reached down to pick her up that you realized his whole arm was metal._

_It was so cold._

_It took everything in you not to scream._

_You must've gasped, because he turned his head. Metal hand still gripping the purple dress. And you'd never forget those eyes. Light in color, gray like the fog and the pavement and his metal arm, gray like the gun barrel tucked away at his side. Eyes as cold as the still air._

_The eyes of a killer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it may be a bit annoying that he's calling you Elizabeth, but I promise that will change. It's Bucky x Reader, not Bucky x OC! I have a plan for everything, don't worry. Also, please please PLEASE leave comments/messages about where you want this to go/what you think if you have the time. I'd really appreciate it. Even if it's just a quick "it's ok" or "I like it!", That would be fantastic.  
> Thanks everyone!


	3. Teapots and Sunsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky find a new lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes about this:  
> 1\. I don't know when the next time I'll add a chapter will be. I have finals and my family is in the process of moving, so I'm low on time.  
> 2\. If you're going to pay attention to any chapter, make it this one. There's some tiny details that will be important later.  
> 3\. I'm sorry that there's not a lot of Bucky x Reader action in this; it was kinda just furthering the mystery part of the plot.  
> 4\. I wrote and edited this while barely awake, so I'm sorry if my grammar and sentence structure is horrible.

 

 

 

"It wasn't his fault. I don't think he ever meant for it to happen, but it did. And if you ask me...well...that's what did it. There was no more line to cross; he had already taken an innocent life."

"What happened?"

"It was simple, really. He aimed for the man behind her and he missed."

"Can you tell me everything about what happened leading up to her murder?"

"Of course. But you have to understand, it's been a while. I thought that...that when those government men came, it would be the end of all this. So my memory's a bit fuzzy."

"Of course, Mrs. Henshaw. Take your time."

"Well, it was a Thursday morning. Nothing usually happens on Thursdays, you know, so I went to the grocery store to pass the time and buy some milk."

There was a pause.

"I saw him in the bread aisle, checking prices. Didn't think anything of him. He was just another shopper. I didn't recognize him at the time. But when I got to the register with my milk, I felt my knees shake. And my knees only shake when something horrible is about to happen."

Another pause.

"He pulled the gun out of his jacket, walked up to the register, and threatened the clerk with it. He wanted the money in the cash register. But there was an officer in the next aisle and, I guess he heard the, uh, the commotion. The officer reached for his gun, so the man tried to shoot him. The woman...the woman standing in the line between them tried to run..."

Mrs. Henshaw gingerly took a tissue from the Kleenex box next to her chair, dabbing at her eyes to collect a few stray tears. Her gray hair fell onto her face as she blew her nose, it's curls only returning to their place when she pushed them back, composing herself.

"Next thing I knew, there were all sorts of people asking me questions. And when the government men told me my description matched a man they were looking for, well, it scared me."

You watched her carefully, your hands clasped in your lap. You needed to know more.

"You said that he never meant for it to happen, and that it tipped him over the edge. Why do you say that? What is your history with this man"

You could hear the creak of The Soldier's chair as he leaned forward next to you, waiting for Mrs. Henshaw's answer.

"He grew up as a boy not far from my home. Never saw any parents, but we took care of him as much as we could. He played with my grandchildren, and ate cookies in my kitchen. Then we saw him less and less until....well, he never came back." She continued softly, "His name was David."

She pulled at the tissue in her hand, tears still falling.

"He was a good kid. All bark and no bite," she laughed quietly, gazing out of the window.

"And when was the last time you saw him?" you asked. She turned to look at you, her red eyes full of sorrow.

"Other than that day at the grocer.. I think... I think it was the winter he turned twelve. I don't remember seeing him after that."

You processed it all quietly, turning your head to gaze out of the window of Mrs. Henshaw's little yellow home. It's lace curtains lit up with the last light of the day, sending patterned rays to the white rug at your feet. The walls of the sitting room you were in were littered with little shelves holding picture frames and teapots, and you had to admit she owned quite a collection. Your eyes briefly traveled to the man at your side, who was watching Mrs. Henshaw intently. You glanced away quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed. You would hate for him to think you cared.

"Thank you, ma'am, for your time. I think I have everything I need to know. But before I leave, can I ask you if you know anyone who might be able to tell me where he is?" You were hopeful. If anyone had something on this guy's history, it was probably this woman.

She ran her hands across the arms of her chair, thinking, before answering.

"Yes. Mr. Jesse Edwards," she whispered, letting out a breath. She seemed to regret the words the minute they left her mouth.

"Thank you. I hope you have a lovely day."

You stood, smiling gently, bending backwards enough to get the kinks out of your back. On the way toward the door, you said, 

"I love your wallpaper, by the way. Foxglove is one of my favorite flowers."

She smiled sadly, her white teeth a beautiful contrast against her dark skin.

"Thank you, honey. Hope you find him."

 

________

 

The Winter Soldier shut the passenger side door of your car as he climbed in next to you.

"You should have asked her more about what he was like as a child," he said gruffly. You scoffed.

"The murder at the store was five years ago, and she still cries about it. She didn't need any more badgering. Besides, we have a second resource now." You couldn't believe how cold he was about this.

"A second resource that has probably already been checked--"

"There was nothing in the file about a Jesse Edwards," you interrupted, "I don't think she told the FBI about him. If you had been asking the questions, however, I doubt you would've gotten anywhere with that heartless attitude of yours."

He blew a frustrated breath out of his nose, and crossed his arms to pout in his seat.

_Just like a child_ , you thought. For the kind of person he was, he seemed awfully immature.

The drive home was uneventful, consisting entirely of your companion glaring out the window, and you yelling at everyone who ran a red light. When you reached your apartment building, you handed him the file Sam had originally given you.

"Take it. Let me know what you find tomorrow. I'll see you at my apartment at 9 o'clock, no later, and _definitely_ no earlier." With those words, you turned on your heels and entered the building.

As you waited for the elevator, you turned and saw the Soldier, back to you, watching the sun set. Bits and pieces of reds, oranges, and purples peeked through the skyscrapers that made up the New York skyline. And you marveled at the striking contrast between those colors and the dark man standing in front of them. You wondered if he, the Winter Soldier, murderer of even more beautiful things, marveled at the painted sky like you did.

Maybe, with the way he watched the colors change, he did.

_____

 

_It was warm. The occasional breeze was the only thing to interrupt the gentle light radiating from the setting sun as you sat on the stone wall, watching. You swung your legs, breathing in the summer air. You could hear your best friend sigh beside you, content. Turning to her, you smiled lazily. Her braided hair was pulled back to frame her face, beautiful melanin alight with the dying rays of the sun. When she reached for your hand, you held on to hers, rubbing circles on her palm. This moment was perfect. Peaceful._

_And you were happy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd appreciate any feedback or comments you could throw at me!! Thank you to the people who have commented; it makes me so happy!! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter ♥️


	4. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ice begins to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it took me this long to update. My life has been a bit crazy and I lacked motivation to continue this fic because I know it isn't as good as I wish it could be. But when visiting my "Statistics" page, I realized that I actually have some subscribers for this fic (despite my refusal to edit), and I don't want to let y'all down. So, I hope you enjoy!

 

_Cold._

_Dark._

_Purple, then red, then..._

_Light glinting off metal._

_Those eyes..._

_So cold._

_____

 

You used your free hand to rub your arm slowly, breathing in the scent of the coffee held in your other to try and forget the dreams you had experienced last night. You'd successfully avoided any nightmares about the night the Winter Soldier had murdered Michelle for almost a year, but seeing him again awakened a part of you that was filled with anxiety and dread. You shifted your feet on the couch as you thought, trying to decide how you felt about him.

Some of the public went along with Captain America's story of brainwashing and control, but others agreed that he was still part of Hydra, trained to deceive and convince the world that he was a good man in order to avoid imprisonment. And you had seen him kill someone with your own eyes, but you just weren't sure. You had no real proof that either side was right, and it bothered you.

Speaking of the devil, there was a knock at your door. Surprised, you looked at the clock. 8:50 AM. And you were still wearing your bright pink onesie, not expecting him for another ten minutes. Holding your coffee tight, you slowly got up and walked to the door. If the Soldier was going to come early, he'd have to deal with the pink onesie.

You checked through the peephole before opening the door, and got just what you expected. A confused once-over by your visitor, followed by an amused chuckle.

"You're early," you glared, "I said 9 o'clock, Soldier."

He was clad in all dark colors, from the leather jacket to the dark jeans, and looked like he hadn't bothered to shower since yesterday.

"Bucky", he grumbled.

"What?"

"My name's Bucky."

"Alright then, Bucky," you said sarcastically, "won't you come in?" You knew he sensed the sarcasm, but had neglected to ignore it.

You closed the door behind him, and motioned for him to sit at the island as you moved to dump your remaining coffee into the sink.

"Did you find anything?" You asked, pulling an old towel from the oven door to wipe your mug clean.

"No."

"Did you do any research? Check any sources you might have that I don't?" You turned around, laying your forearms on the cool countertop to watch him.

"Yes," he said, staring right back at you.

"Awfully monosyllabic this morning, aren't we?" You responded, one eyebrow raised. He only grunted in response, sinking further into his seat.

To an outsider, the scene might have looked comedic. A woman in a blaringly pink onesie staring at a slouching man who may have been homeless. And normally, you would have laughed. But the Winter Soldier, _Bucky_ , you corrected, was not someone to laugh with.

You should have been more surprised when the next thing you did was offer him a drink, but that surprise was overshadowed by the shock of him accepting.

"Tea, please, and thank you."

You nodded, and turned to grab your cardboard box full of teabags, and dropped it unceremoniously in front of him.

"Pick one," you said. So he did. He rifled through it for only a few moments before picking Peppermint. You couldn't help the way your eyes narrowed just a bit as he handed you the teabag, because Peppermint was your personal favorite. And for some reason, the fact that he picked it made you uncomfortable.

As you made his tea, you explained your plan for the day.

"So... First on the agenda, we find Jesse Edwards--Hey Google, can you find a Jesse Edwards for me?--and we ask him if he knows anything about this 'David' guy. We also need to talk to the man at the police department who's in charge of sending out court summons, and see if we can get an address out of him. If he was the one who sent out the summons from the file to our target, chances are he has some useful information that the FBI just couldn't get out of him." You were going to continue, but were interrupted by Bucky.

"And how do you suggest we get that information? The department is pretty damn secure, doll, and I doubt it'll be easy to get any papers or computer files from inside."

You twitched at the nickname, and wondered how in the world he believed that your plan was to just waltz into NYPD's main building and hope for the best.

"First, I have a friend on the inside who may be some help. Second, don't ever call me doll again and third, have some faith in me. This isn't my first rodeo." As you turned with his finished tea, you watched the ghost of a smirk dance across his lips.

"Whatever you say," he replied, looking you in the eyes just long enough to grab his tea.

You sighed with frustration, watching the lights on your Google Home spin as it searched for your man.

"[Y/N], it seems that I have found one man by the name of Jesse Edwards in the city. Should I send you his address?" It said, and you realized too late that it had used your real name.

"Sure. Thanks, Google."

"My pleasure."

You hurried into your bedroom before Bucky could comment, and shut the door to change out of your onesie. You picked some jeans and a West Virginia University T-shirt, and took your sweet time putting them on. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd forget what Google had said by the time you were done. You were wrong.

You left your bedroom, walked to the door, and managed to grab your purse and keys before he said anything.

"So," he said, "that's your actual name. [Y/N]."

"Yeah," you mumbled, pretending to search for something in your bag.

"I didn't know those little robots could find people," he continued, saying possibly the longest sentence you'd heard from him all morning.

"Not usually," you replied, opening the door to leave. "I hacked into the FBI's system a while back, so I have access to a lot of their databases."

You could see a slight look of surprise in his eyes as you locked the door behind you both.

He mumbled something incoherently, and followed you out of your apartment building.

 

_______

 

When you knocked on the door of the address Google had sent you, you could feel Bucky Barnes tense a little beside you. Neither of you had any idea what was behind that door but if it's neighborhood served as an indicator, it wouldn't be too safe. You could hear soft footsteps getting closer, and you secured your arm around your purse. The door opened only a little bit, revealing a pale face and suspicious green eyes.

"What do you want?" Their owner asked, a skinny man in his mid thirties, wearing a deep green tanktop and cargo shorts.

"Are you Jesse Edwards? Mrs. Henshaw sent me over," you ask carefully.

He scanned you slowly before moving on to study Bucky.

"Again, what do you want?" He finally responded.

"We just need to ask a few questions," Bucky jumped in, and you began preparing your speech for later about how this was your job, not his.

"You with the government?"

"No, Mr. Edwards. We're just looking for answers," you said, softer this time, trying to play the part of the damsel in distress, hoping he'd take pity on the sad eyes you were giving him.

"Come in, then. But don't touch my shit."

You followed Jesse into the dark, cramped townhouse, squeezing through hallways lined with boxes and bags that gave off an odor that smelled suspiciously like illegal substances. You continued following him past some stairs, a grimy kitchen, and a closed door, into what looked like a living room. There was one ancient-looking couch, a small flat screen mounted on the wall, and even more bags and boxes. He sat down on the tiny couch, spreading his legs enough that neither you nor Bucky could fit comfortably, so you remained standing.

"So, what do you wanna know?" Your host drawled.

"We're looking for someone named David. Mrs. Henshaw said you knew him," you said weakly, maintaining the pathetic façade by glancing around the room hurriedly, avoiding eye contact. Bucky, on the other hand, remained like a brick beside you, arms folded, watching Jesse.

"Why you want to to find him?" Jesse asked, and you were getting impatient.

"He may be connected with someone we recently lost," Bucky said, moving his hand so it was hovering just above the small of your back, giving the illusion that he was trying to comfort you with his touch. You leaned towards him slightly. Apparently, you weren't the only one who could act.

"I ain't stupid," Jesse hissed quietly, almost silently, but quickly changed demeanor to smile at you.

"Pardon?" You asked nervously.

"In that case, I might have something you'd like to see."

 He reached behind the couch, swinging his arm around as if searching for something. That's when he pulled out the gun.

It was black. And definitely loaded.

He pointed it at you. Pulled the trigger. But the bullet never reached it's mark.

_____

 

_You couldn't breathe. The walls of your room seemed to close in on you. Every shadow was a murderer, ready to strike. Every noise outside a gunshot. And every breath was laborous. With each one, you could see Michelle's face, telling you that she'd see you later. Telling you not to worry. But then, between breaths, you could see the blood-stained purple dress, and her hair falling from it's updo. And then those cold, blue-gray eyes._

_You took one big, deep gulp of air, trying to forget. But the harder you tried, the more your memories haunted you. And the more angry you grew. Michelle was your best friend, and her life had been taken away in one moment by someone you had never seen before._

_Taking a final, calming breath, you swore that if you ever came across that man again, you'd tear the mask off his face and take_ his _life from him with your bare hands._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! As always, please please please comment and let me know what you think! I want to know what parts you like, and what parts you don't.  
> Again, not sure when I'll be able to update again. Sorry!!


	5. David?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to realize that maybe having Bucky on your side isn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!PLEASE READ!!!!!!!  
> I just recently edited the other chapters, and changed a few details. Nothing major, but please glance over them if you have a chance.  
> I'm sorry this chapter took so long; I was out of town for a month, and I have to leave in two days to a place where I won't have wifi. I've been trying to deliver better quality, so I hope you like this chapter! This fic has become more of an actual project than just a little experiment since I got some subscribers.   
> Speaking of that, thank you to all those who have subscribed to this! I'm so glad you're on board!  
> Enjoy!

You stared down in shock at the metal arm that hovered in front of you. There wasn't one nick on its surface to prove what Bucky had done; _he had saved your life_. He had stopped the bullet.

Jesse Edwards was even more shocked, however, which gave you time to step forward and pull the gun straight out of his hands. You aimed it at his head. And behind you, you could hear Bucky load his own weapon.

"Nice try, Mr. Edwards. Now, you're gonna tell me what you know, or find a bullet imbedded in that thick skull of yours," you hissed.

Edwards spit on your shoes, and practically growled at you.

"You ain't need to know shit, girl. This don't have anything to do with you."

Bucky stepped forward now.

"We can make this look like an accident. I'd suggest you answer any questions the woman has," he said.

The fool sitting on the couch seemed to realize his situation as he looked between the two of you, and made up his mind.

"Fine. All I know is, he been killin' people he thinks are assholes. He ain't crazy, though. If you'd talk before you get all trigger-happy, you might be able to figure that out."

You ignored his last statement.

"Where can I find him?"

"Shit, girl," he shook his head, "like I know. We've talked twice, about why he does what he does, but he's too smart to leave any connections."

You stared Jesse Edwards down, trying to judge if he had divulged everything. 

"Then why the hell did you shoot at us if you didn't have any real information?" Bucky asked, leaning closer to him until the barrel of the gun was against Edwards' forehead. Jesse looked between the two of you, once again calculating his odds. That must have taken awhile, because it was a good few seconds before he responded.

"We got a deal. I hide his shit, he hides mine. Anybody come looking for me, he'll get rid of 'em. Same goes for him."

Bucky let his gun fall at his side, and turned to leave. You followed quickly, dodging boxes and needles to catch up to him.

"Barnes! _Barnes_! You're just leaving?"

He stopped right before reaching the front door, and turned to you.

"He didn't have anything else to say, so yes, we're leaving."

But before he could turn back around, you spoke again.

"Listen up. I'm in charge of this whole goose-chase, so we leave when I say we leave. You wanna work together, you follow my rules because it's _my_ job."

He crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow in your direction.

"Okay, doll. Do I have permission to leave?"

You opened your mouth to tell him to go back in to the room, but shut it just as quickly. You realized that there really wasn't anything else to do here; you had lost a lead.

"No." You grumbled, pushing past him to open the door and walk into the bright sunlight. You could almost hear his smirk as you walked past.

 

________

 

You gazed up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the feeling of Barnes' painfully muscular arm against yours. The waiting room at the state office had managed to find the smallest chairs in the country, but it was almost worth it to hear Bucky shift uncomfortably for the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes.

You could hear him mumble something under his breath just over the sound of the desk clerk crunching her potato chips, and the bubbling filter in the fish tank against the wall across from you. If he kept up this habit of mumbling under his breath, you might have some choice words on the matter, even if it was a public setting.

Finally, through the double doors behind the desk came a familiar face.

"Derek!" You smiled, getting up to greet your friend.

"[Y/N]! It's been too long," Dr. Derek Lane smiled back. As he pulled you in for a hug, you could hear the desk clerk stop chewing, probably in an attempt to dig up some fresh gossip for her co-workers.

"So," the suit-clad businessman asked, pulling away, "what's brought you here?"

"We're looking for someone, and need your help," you admitted.

"We?"

"Yeah." You stepped aside to motioned at Bucky, who was now standing right behind you. "This is...my friend. My friend James." You said the last part carefully, waiting to see if Derek recognized your companion. Luckily for you, he didn't. Instead, he reached out to give a hearty handshake.

"Well, James, it's nice to meet you. Why don't you two step into my office?"

You followed him through the double doors, and down a hallway, every once in a while glancing at Bucky. He was looking everywhere, and you could almost see him planning an escape route. 

You both followed Derek through a narrow door, and into a cozy little office overlooking Central Park.

"Nice office, man," you breathed, staring out of the window.

"Thanks," he laughed, "It came with the promotion."

Bucky broke through your wonder by clearing his throat. 

"Ah yes, so... How may I help you both?" Derek asked, sitting in the padded office chair behind his desk.

You and Bucky sat in chairs that were (thankfully) larger than those in the waiting room, and he began talking first.

"We're looking for a David. We weren't given a last name. There are several warrants out for his arrest, and we've been commissioned to find him."

You mentally scolded yourself for not asking for a last name. It was so simple, yet you had neglected it when you questioned Mrs. Henshaw. But something about that woman had brought out a pity in you that you couldn't explain, and you had wanted to keep her from any unnecessary pain.

"Interesting. David, you said? That's a pretty common name."

"Yes," you jumped in, "and the sooner we can get information on him, the better. He was in association with a Lisa Henshaw, and Jesse Edwards."

Derek paused, squeezing a stress ball.

"And you couldn't find him with the records you have?"

You could feel Bucky's eyes on you, waiting.

"No, I can only search by name."

"Well," Derek sighed, "I'll see what I can do. But I can't promise that we'll find anything."

 

_______

 

_It was cold._

_But Michelle had convinced you that walking a mile to meet her stupid boyfriend was a good idea. How she did that, you had no idea. So there you were, trudging through the snow to some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that she claimed was their favorite._

_Your grumbling must have caught Michelle's attention, because she hesitated in her walk._

_"You know," she said, "we can head back if you really want to."_

_You were tempted, but stopped short of nodding your head when you saw her face. She had been talking about this guy for awhile, telling you everything about him. Oddly enough, you didn't even know his name, but that would change when you met him at the restaurant, which you were now determined to do._

_"No. I'm going."_

_But when you finally arrived, he wasn't there. And all the positive things Michelle had told you about him went down the drain in an instant. Especially when you saw her moist eyes._

_"Hey," you said, wrapping a protective arm around her, "whatever happened, it's on his end. Not yours. Let's just enjoy some good food."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! As usual, please please please let me know what you think! What did you like? Dislike? I cherish every comment and kudos.  
> This chapter, along with "Teapots and Sunsets" is building up to some future surprises, so it's mostly just furthering the plot. I hope you enjoyed this! 💕


	6. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You realize that maybe you can't trust the people you always have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back and furiously updating all my fics before the inspiration runs out?

 

You watched the small dot spin circles in the middle of your computer screen, loading the page. You thrummed your fingers against the keyboard, left hand supporting your chin. You were sitting cross-legged on your bed, barely awake, at one in the morning, and had already decided that you would kill this "David" guy for all the trouble he put you through. And all the nightmares.

With his government clearance, Bucky had already talked to the FBI about questioning Jesse Edwards further, but it would take awhile to process his request. So you had searched his name on a somewhat shady website to pull up a background check. After all, they had barely tried to get any real information on the main suspect, hadn't even fully questioned Mrs. Henshaw, and didn't know the guy's name was David. It was pathetic.

You nearly fell off the bed when your phone rang, and answered it quickly, ignoring caller ID, in case the neighbors filed another noise complaint.

"Hello?"

"[Y/N], I found something."

"Who is this?" You asked, sighing in relief when the webpage finally loaded and you were greeted with the profile of Jesse Edwards.

"It's Bucky." Any joy you had left over from the past few exhausting days was immediately extinguished.

"Well, Bucky, maybe you shouldn't call people at one in the morning. Only assholes wake their colleagues up before the sun rises."

"You weren't asleep. I can see the light of your computer screen from outside."

"What?!" You lept out of bed, and nearly crashed into the window across the room. You threw it open, phone still in hand, and stuck your head out, looking around.

"Where the hell are you?" You hissed, still not seeing him.

"To your left." Just then, the metal on his arm caught the light of a streetlamp in an alley not far away. You were going to ask him what he was doing by your building, but seeing that arm glinting in the flourescant city lights... Your breath started coming in short gasps that you couldn't control. It felt like you couldn't get enough air, like you were running out of oxygen, like you were dying. 

"[Y/N]? I don't care if you're pissed. We have a case to solve." But you couldn't hear Bucky. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart, hard against your ribcage.

"[Y/N]?"

You focused in on the sound of your alarm clock, ticking the seconds away. 

Breath in.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Breath out.

One. Two.

"I'm coming up there, [Y/N]."

Three. Four. Five.

Breath in.

"Or you could just answer, instead of being difficult."

One. Two. Three. Four.

Don't think about the blood. Don't think about her.

Five.

He hung up.

Breath out.

You could finally breath normally again. You left the window frame, and shut it, stretching your back. The familiar crackling of your bones helped cement you in reality again. With a heavy sigh, you walked shakily to your bedroom door and opened it. As you were entering the living room, there was a knock at your front door.

How can he move so fast?

You continued to walk slowly, carefully, making sure to keep your breathing steady. Bucky couldn't know that you had had a panic attack. And definitely not that it was because of him. If the Winter Soldier knew you were scared, he could use it against you. And you weren't willing to let that happen.

"Now, are you gonna tell me why you needed to call me in the middle of the night?" You said, swinging the door open wide to reveal Bucky Barnes, clad in his typical all-black ensamble. This time, however, he had a jacket that looked about the right size to pack a weapon. He pushed past you, into your apartment, and plopped down on the couch. You didn't have the energy to yell at him.

"I looked into Derek; the one who's supposed to know where they sent the summons for David." You nodded for him to continue.

"I visited his condo. From the outside, I could hear him on the phone with someone. He was asking for help fabricating goverment-ordered court summons. I have a feeling he's not going to be giving us real ones." He mumbled the last part sleepily, eyes trained on an empty mug that sat on a box in front of him.

"You don't know that. I've used Derek for other cases, and he always follows through. I always find who I'm looking for. He could've been talking about anything." You said, sitting down on the biggest box you could find that was across form Bucky.

"He mentioned your name. Said he needed to keep you off a trail, but wouldn't say what kind of trail."

You picked at a hangnail on your thumb, thinking. It didn't make sense. Derek had been the key to finding so many of your targets, so it was surprising that he would be in cohorts with this one.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah. Right before he ended the call, he said something that sounded like... Veggie tales, or, digital fails? It sounded Latin. I don't remember."

You sighed, rubbing your face.

"Well, looks like we have some more searching to do," you said at last. "In the morning, we visit Derek's office and go through his computer. Maybe we'll find something. But for now, you need to leave so I can get some sleep."

Bucky nodded, and lifted himself off the couch.

"See you tomorrow, pink."

"Pink?"

"Your onesie," he grinned, and you shoved him out the door.

When you finally got back to your room, you shut your computer without looking over the background check sheet. You were too exhausted to deal with the case, anyway. With a sigh, you cuddled up under your blankets, and closed your eyes. You only hoped the nightmares would leave you alone for one night.

___________

 

_The subway jerked and jolted through the Underground, its lights flickering and passengers drifting off from the unusually long ride. The train that passed through the A terminal on Bank Street at three in the morning was always slow._

_You could hear Michelle faintly humming along to the music playing in your shared earbuds, her head resting comfortably against your shoulder. You scrolled through her music, looking for something upbeat to keep the two of you awake, when she got a text._

 

Bitch u better tell me where u been. I'm sick of this.

 

_You hadn't meant to read it, but it had been there. You didn't get a chance to see who it was from. All you could see was the little icon next to the sender that said "D", and the hearts on either side of the name_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I really really really appreciate any comments, feedback, or kudos!! They motivate me to continue writing.  
> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. Stay tuned for the next!


	7. Dance to That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to realize that the Winter Soldier is more human than you first believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, eleven subscribers on this fic?!! I can hardly believe it!! I'm so sorry for not updating, but my life is insane. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd ever continue this, but after seeing how many people like it, I'm gonna try. Enjoy!

You were back in Dr. Lane's office with the fish tank bubbling and it's white walls, but this time, it was too early for anyone to be working. You and Bucky had had an easy enough time breaking in with a set of lockpicks he had gotten from somewhere or someone you didn't want to know about, and one of your many computer programs made quick work of any alarms. You still avoided the windows, slinking along the walls close behind the soldier in front of you. You could see some early morning stars through the miniblinds of the nearest window, like pinholes in the darkness that was the navy blue sky.

"Mmph!" You grunted, as you ran into Bucky, who had abruptly stopped in front of the door that lead to the offices.

"How hard is it to warn me before you stop?" You whisper-yelled, rubbing the bridge of your nose where it had hit his back.

"Maybe you need to pay more attention," he mumbled almost inaudibly. You couldn't think of a retaliation, so you contented yourself with mimicking his voice shrilly. He shushed you, and finally continued creeping around the corner. Once in the hall, you stood up. You took the lead, counting doors until you reached Derek's. Bucky carefully picked the lock, and you both ducked again, even if the window opened out to Central Park, and the chances of anyone seeing you from that high up were slim. The once-cozy office seemed eerie in the low light, and you were eager to get the job done.

You hauled yourself carefully into Dr. Lane's chair, and pressed power on his computer. You began typing the extremely long password you had set as a backup years ago when he wasn't paying attention. You had once attributed it to your paranoia, but were thankful for it now.

"By the way," you whispered as the computer booted up, "I did a background check on Jesse Edwards. He's got a few felonies on his record, but that's it. Nothing really important."

Bucky nodded, eyes shifting from the window to you. He was crouched in the corner like a boy whose Dad brought him to bring-your-kid-to-work-day, and you would've found it a little funny if he wasn't so tense. Even when you had been in Edwards' house, he wasn't this alert.

When the computer finished turning on, you were met with a picture of a smiling Derek and his wife, who were sitting on a boulder in their massive backyard, surrounded by flowers. You had seen his garden once, during a barbeque he had arranged for all of his friends (though how he considered you a friend, you never knew). It had just about every flower you could think of, from geraniums to foxglove to hyacinth. You moved the mouse to his files, and opened the search bar. Your fingers hovered over the keys, and Bucky must have sensed your hesitation, because he whispered a quick "David" to remind you what you were looking for. You typed the name in, and held your breath as it loaded. But nothing came up.

You squinted at the screen, and pressed the reload button, hoping for a different answer. But you got nothing.

"There's no way he doesn't have a single 'David' in his files!" You nearly yelled, barely managing to keep your voice low.

"Nothing?" The soldier crouching in the corner asked, ignoring your outburst.

"Nothing." You sighed, logged off the computer, and crouched to the floor to leave. The beginnings of the sunrise were starting to breath life into the eerie little office as you and Bucky left, quietly as you came.

Once you were back on the street, and around the corner, you whirled around and slammed the nearest lamppost with your fist.

"What is that son of a bitch hiding?" You said, your voice rising with each syllable. Bucky glared at you, a warning to quiet down.

"I don't know. Let's head back to your place and regroup."

You grumbled.

"Look here, buster, I'm the one calling the shots. We head home when I say it's time to head home." You glowered at him, holding steady eye contact. But he looked more exasperated than convinced of your authority.

"Fine," you sighed, "we'll head back."

You turned on your heels before you could see the satisfied smirk on his lips.

 

Back in your apartment, you and Bucky were sprawled across various seats. He sat in one of the barstools, arm thrown across the kitchen island, and you lay on the sofa. It may have looked relaxed--two people in old jeans and tees, chilling at home--but there was an almost palpable undercurrent of suspiciousness and unease, mostly coming from you. The days of searching and investigating with little sleep were getting to you, but you refused to succumb to the exhaustion. You kept reminding yourself that he could strike at any minute, kill you in a heartbeat, and make it look like an accident. And Captain America was obviously on his side, so who would vouch for you? It wasn't like you had any friends.

"Any luck?" You asked him from across the room, watching as he scrolled with the gear on his computer's mouse.

"No." He said simply, not even stopping to look at you.

Your father's tea kettle began to whistle, so you pulled yourself up to make tea. As you stirred the honey and tea bag in the boiling water, you heard yourself humming softly.

"Google," you yelled at your in-home AI, "play some music."

The colored dots on its head whirled until it found one of your favorite Spotify playlists. James TW's soft voice played over the speakers, and you swayed your hips along with the music. You could feel Bucky's eyes on you, as well as his general disgruntled-ness, but ignored it.

"What sort of music is this?"

You turned, only to see him still absorbed in scrolling. You grunted, and turned back to your tea.

"It's good music," you finally responded.

"And it's good to see that you've broken your daily monosyllabic tendencies to join me in the real world," you continued, a slight smile playing on your lips. It was his turn to grunt.

"Hey, Google," his gruff voice interrupted the music. "Play some Artie Shaw?" The last bit was punctuated with a question, and it was obvious he'd never asked an AI to do anything.

Your apartment was suddenly filled with some sort of jazz that you'd never heard before, and you turned to face Bucky with indignation in your eyes. He met your gaze steadily, and responded to it before you could say anything.

"What's wrong? Can't dance to this?"

You stuck your tongue out, and swayed your way over to the trash can, trying to keep the rythm. You dumped the teabag in the can on beat, and twirled back to the counter. You could practically hear the soldier's self-satisfied smile from behind you as you picked up your tea, and turned to lean against the island and meet his gaze again.

"Got a problem with my dancing, old man?" You smirked, challenging him.

"Well, Pink, no offense," he said sarcastically, "but you have no idea how to dance." His grin grew wider as you scoffed.

"Excuse me, but I don't see you even trying!"

Bucky climbed off the barstool, and rounded the island to stand in front of you.

"I need a partner," he said, eyeing you cautiously. Normally, you would've balked at anyone who had said the same thing, but something about the sincerity in his eyes made you wonder. Suddenly, you could see the cracks in his façade again. You could see someone real behind that mask. Someone who really was unsure of himself.

Refusing to lose any pride, you stuck your chin out defiantly. 

"I'm only doing this to prove you wrong."

You grabbed his hand, and almost jolted in surprise as his other instinctually found your waist. You didn't give him time to adjust before you began swaying, not breaking eye contact, determined to show him that you could be just as stubborn and just as annoying. He began to take bigger steps, and tugged at your waist to lead.

You had danced before, with many men, but never like this. The others had all been part of a mission; a bigger picture. But here you were, dancing in your apartment with a man you barely knew. Your brain desperately tried to get you to stop, but the picture of Michelle's body didn't appear before your eyes like it usually did everytime you saw Bucky. No matter how hard your will fought against it, your body moved with his, in a rythm you had no control over. It was like being in some sort of car crash, working on some sort of carnal instinct to survive. But this wasn't about surviving. In fact, you were in your own apartment; the place you were supposed to be in control. The tunes seemed to quiet all your thoughts, though, and you continued to let Bucky twirl you around the kitchen.

Up close, you got a good look at him. He had a chiseled jaw, covered with stubble, and some of the most beautiful blue-gray eyes you had ever seen. His face, just inches from yours, had the impressions from stress lines, and the ghost of laugh lines, too. His hair fell forward, nearly grazing your face. Normally, you would have looked away to save yourself from studying him too closely. With proximity came attachment. But you were lost in his eyes, still desperately trying to break free from his spell. The track ended, finally, and gave you the reality check you needed to break free.

"See?" You said, pulling away to rush back behind the island so he couldn't reach you, "I can dance."

 

______________

 

[I]The tears on Michelle's face were all too real, and you began to panic. You had never seen her cry before.

"Michelle... Talk to me. What is it?"

Her sobs just worsened, and all you could do was tighten your hold on her shoulders.

"I just... Why can't I be good enough?" The crying wracked her slim body, and you could barely hold the tears back yourself.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but whatever it is, Michelle, you're always good enough. You're amazing and beautiful, girl. I love you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

You continued to hold her through her breakdown, only leaving her side to grab tissues. Eventually, her shaking stopped, and the tears ceased to flow.

"I just wish I could be good enough for him," she murmured, gazing out of your apartment window.

"Who?" You asked, already prepared to beat the bastard who had brought her to tears. She took a deep breath, and answered slowly.

"David."[/I]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments below! I've been losing motivation to write, so I really need it.


	8. Digitalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of searching, you've caught on to another lead, and someone who may just be the key to everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I can't believe I'm already updating again! Don't get too used to frequent updates lol.  
> Anyway, as usual, I need all the support I can get, so I'd really appreciate any feedback you can give me. Thank you to all the wonderful people who have commented, given kudos, and subscribed! You are the reason I keep writing! I hope that my writing has improved over the last eigth chapters, and that you enjoy this next installment :)

You had hit a dead end, and you didn't want to admit it. Disappointment hung in the air, casting a shadow over your small apartment. It had been weeks since the visit to Dr. Lane's office, and nothing had turned up. Bucky had tapped the man's phone lines, and monitored his every move, but learned nothing. The fake court summons Derek sent you lead to a vacant home, obviously empty for a long time. You didn't say anything to him about it. You had gone back to check out Jesse Edwards again, with Bucky, of course, because he refused to let you go back there alone after what happened last time, but found another empty house. Everything had been cleared out, leaving only "piss stains and problems for the FDA", according to Bucky.

You had even gone to interview Louisa Henshaw again, only to find out from a nosy neighbor with neck tattoos  that she had left on vacation to Jamaica. You had hit a dead end, and it looked like there was no silver lining in sight.

You had hunted difficult people in the past, even cases that had been cold for years. You hadn't failed yet. But every murder connected to this guy left no clues. The only reason they connected the murders to the suspect was his gun, which had been finally identified after the grocery store shoot-out that Mrs. Henshaw had described. They could connect some seven or so murders to that weapon, but the chances of him still carrying it were slim. You had poured through every case file available, pulled all the strings, followed every whim and passing feeling. The only photos you had were from the security camera in that grocery store, and all they revealed was a pale face with blonde hair. His features were almost unrecognizable, and, many times as you lay awake at night, desperately trying to find some clues, you had cursed the grocer's choice of ancient security tech. The target seemed completely unremarkable, and yet, you couldn't find him. He didn't work like any of the gangs you had encountered, and it didn't seem like he was a Hitman. There was no real connection between his victims, but most had no enemies to connect their murders with.

The soldier was probably more frustrated than you. He would disappear for days at a time, only to come back grumbling and griping. Even the most feared assasin in the western world had no clue. Without the technology to do so, you didn't have the access you needed to view FBI or CIA documents that might give you the clues you craved. And as the weeks passed, you and Bucky became more and more irritated with each other. You were both running out of patience.

 

You were startled out of your thoughts as the water coming from the showerhead in your bathroom turned ice cold. You nearly screeched, backing up into the corner to avoid the freezing water. 

"JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES YOU BETTER NOT HAVE TURNED ON THE DISH WASHER WHILE I'M IN THE SHOWER AGAIN!" You yelled at the top of your lungs, clinging on to the shower curtain for support so you could lean as close to the door as possible. You heard mumbling, which sounded nothing like an apology, before the water turned back to your preferred temperature.

"About time!" You yelled, settling back into your shower.

Bucky had far from moved in -- you wouldn't allow it -- but he spent most of his time in your apartment. He had been over the manila file folder given to you by Sam Wilson just as many times as you had, and used your TV to stay up-to-date on the news. He ate some meals with you, and you spent most nights sitting on the red sofa on your computer, Bucky on the floor, watching the reporters talk on and on about petty crimes and politics.

As you turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower, you could hear the TV playing and pots clanging in the kitchen. You dressed in your favorite pair of jeans and a nice blouse, prepared to go to a mystery block party Derek Lane had invited you to. You were still miffed because of what you had discovered about him, but knew that this was the opportunity you needed to get close to him.

When you reached the kitchen, you immediately clamped your hand over your mouth to stop from laughing out loud. There Bucky stood, wrapped in an old pink apron of yours, cooking ramen in a pot.

"Well, Barnes, don't you look dashing in an apron?" you joked sarcastically.

"I don't have to make your ramen, you know," he responded, not even looking back.

"No, but you do, because I deserve it after putting up with you all day." You could practically hear his eyeroll, and chuckled to yourself as you flopped onto the couch, holding the precarious towel tower that held your hair in place as it dried. You soon became sucked into the news, and hardly noticed it when Bucky handed you a bowl of beef ramen and settled into his usual spot in front of you on the floor. You mumbled a quick "thanks" and dug in.

"Recently, some students at Case Western University have been researching how one flower could help treat congestive heart failure," one of the talking heads on TV was saying.

"The genus _Digitalis_ , commonly known as foxglove,contains a special protein that..." You stopped listening when Bucky went stiff as a board, fixated on the television. You turned the volume down, and leaned forward to get his attention.

"Bucky? Are you okay?"

"You remember when I said that I heard Dr. Lane say something funny on the phone?" he asked, scooting around so he could face you, "Something that sounded like Veggie tales?"

Suddenly, things began to click into place. You remembered the last time you had been at Derek's house, and how he had showed you his garden. He had named each flower but their genus and species, including his foxgloves.

"Oh my God. He was saying _Digitalis_ , wasn't he?" Your voice was barely a whisper, but Barnes heard just fine.

"Yeah, doll. Exactly."

"What does it mean? And why would he say it on a phone call with someone who's in league with our target?

You were interrupted by a knock at the door. Tearing yourself away from Bucky's steely eyes, you stumbled quickly to the door and pulled the lock without checking the peephole first. That was a mistake, which you realized as soon as the door opened and you were met with the muzzle of a gun.

"Hello, Ms. (Y/L/N). It's a pleasure to finally meet you. May I come in?"

"I don't think I have a choice in the matter," you growled, backing up to let the stranger in. You hadn't heard him move, but you knew Bucky was on his feet, ready to fight.

"Take it easy, Barnes. Just brought this," he motioned to his handgun, "as insurance. Wasn't sure how flighty your girlfriend was gonna be."

"I'm not his girlfriend," you said, boring holes into his skull with your gaze. It was hard to really glare at him with the deeply-tinted sunglasses he wore.

The mystery man had the nerve to laugh!

"I know. Either way, I'm here to help," he continued, unfazed. Who was he? He obviously knew Bucky, but you wouldn't have guess by the way they hardly greeted other.

"I figured, with the gun you're aiming at my forehead," you snarled sarcastically. Bucky remained silent behind you, which was abnormal. He was quiet, sure, but he was normally never short of quips. All you could hear was his uneven breathing.

With a sigh, your new visitor pocketed his gun, and lifted his hand in the direction of your kitchen island.

"Care to sit and talk?" He asked calmly.

"Not until I know who you are," you said, standing firm. His lips curled into the most subtle grin you had ever seen.

"My name's Fury. Nick Fury. And I can help you find your guy."

 

__________

 

_You had begun to loathe David ever since that day he stood you and Michelle up at your meeting place. He was never around, and when he was, her usual vibrance seemed to be sucked out of her. She would get postcards and letters from wherever he was visiting, but she never let you see them. You were afraid of whatever was so horrible about them that she was too ashamed to show you._

_Michelle had moved in recently; a way to save money and spend more time together. David had tried to resist it, and you knew he would, which is why you had waited until her phone was in for repairs to offer. She had made the decision before he had any say, and by then it was too late for him to change it._

_You could see Michelle sitting outside on the fire escape, arms wrapped securely around her knees. She was quiet, which was strange, and looked off so far into the distance that you were afraid she might float away. You looked away from the window, focusing on going through the mail that was piling up on the dining room table. It had been too busy to sort it until now, and you were relieved to finally have the time._

_You sifted through bills, letters, business, and junk mail, putting them in their respective piles, until you came across something different. It was one of Derek's postcards. The message said only "Wish you were here!", and you knew that the unusually short note was only because he was afraid of you. You turned it over, and saw the gold lettering that announced his visit to some French botanical garden in Washington state. Peeking out from between the letters were the sleek, freckled petals of foxglove flowers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this puts me at over 10,000 words! I can't believe it!! Sometimes it's hard for me to write even five hundred, and yet I find myself writing chapters of upwards of 2k words in one sitting!  
> Thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far. I still have a ways to go (it IS tagged "slow burn" for a reason), but you've given me the motivation I need to do it.


	9. A Family Create

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pieces of the puzzle fall into place, and the reader realized that they may have been wrong about Bucky all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo this is the chapter where shit starts to go down.  
> Sorry that I've been slow to update, but I recently started a new mini-series, and finally worked through my writer's block regarding another series that I'm doing in the Star Trek Universe (Adventure Is Out There). And, I'm working on a separate writing project, on top of all my normal life business. So, please excuse the slow updates.  
> Enjoy! ♥️

You clung to the edge of the counter, ready to push yourself off and attack if Fury made a move. The three of you stood there, watching each other carefully. You had heard murmurs about the S.H.I.E.L.D. director, but he was supposed to be dead.

"So, why didn't we know about you before?" You prodded, buying some time while you planned escape routes and ways to take out the man in front of you.

"I've been away." The answer was vague and unconvincing. You told him so.

"I know it's vague, but it's all you're gonna get. Barnes over here," he said, pointing the end of his gun at Bucky, "can vouch for me."

You turned your body towards the soldier who stood in the corner of the kitchen, but kept your eyes on the mystery man.

"He worked with the Avengers," Bucky admitted, but gave nothing else in the way of confidence.

"Well, isn't that great?" You said sarcastically. "Now all my worries have just melted away!"

"Listen, you may not trust me, but I have information. And when was the last time you trusted someone, [Y/N] [Y/MN] [Y/LN]?"

Hearing your full name shook you to the core, though you didn't show it. You hadn't used your full name in years. He shouldn't know it.

"Never." You said, grip tightening even more on the countertop. You didn't like this man at all.

"In any case, I brought you this," he continued, pulling a neon green folder from the black trench coat he wore. You snatched it from his grasp, and slapped it on the counter.

"That's nice. But how do you know my name?"

Fury chuckled, and Bucky shifted behind you.

"Woman, do you honestly think no one knows about you? S.H.I.E.L.D. has had its eyes on you since you were born. If you didn't have such a bad attitude about working with others, we might've hired you."

"Didn't S.H.I.E.L.D. turn out to be Hydra?" You asked innocently. Fury ignored you.

"I think the information in that folder will be of some interest to you. Personally, I have bigger fish to fry than some low-level seriel killer, so I leave it in your hands. Prove yourself worthy of my trust."

As the visitor turned to leave, you asked,

"And when was the last time you trusted someone?"

"Never," he smiled, and disappeared out the door.

You rushed forward and shut it. Sliding the lock into place, you breathead a sigh of relief. You could hear the floorboards creak as Bucky moved towards the counter, but before he could open the folder, you whirled on him.

"What the fuck was that? Or, rather, WHO the fuck was that? One of your friends? Do you people think you can just pull a gun on me in my apartment? And why did he just show up now? We needed information earlier! How does he know more than we do?" You were yelling, spit flying in the Winter Soldier's direction. You were furious. Not necessarily because of what had happened, though. You had been held at gunpoint more times than you could count. It was the fact that you hadn't looked or been more careful when you opened the door. You were usually so cautious and controlled. You never relaxed. But you had this morning, for some reason, and it had put the operation in jeopardy. The most irritating part about it was that you were relaxed with Bucky Barnes in your house. Your best friend's murderer was in the same room as you, and you had let your guard down enough that someone was able to get into your apartment. It was apalling. With a grunt, you ripped the towel off your head, and glared at Bucky, directing your fear and insecurity at him.

"I don't know why he showed up. I definitely didn't invite him." Though his voice was even, you could hear the underlying frustration as he continued.

"Fury threatens people to make sure they're afraid of him. That's just what he does. I don't know why Sam ever assigned you the job if Fury had information, or how he knows something we don't. All I know is, we've got to use this to our advantage."

In all honesty, you wanted to cry. Though you had tried to compartmentalize, your emotions were running rampant. All the nightmares and old memories that resurfaced didn't help the fact that you were beyond confused about Bucky. He was a murderer, and yet you let him into your home. You had even danced with him, though you swore you'd kill him if you ever saw him. Maybe it was the fact that you were so used to suppressing your feelings, that you had allowed yourself to ignore the hatred for the Winter Soldier. Maybe he was drugging you. But either way, you had to get this job done.

Your hands unclenched as the familiar numbness of dissociation swept over you.

"Why don't we look in the folder?" You offered, padding over to the island in your bare feet. Bucky moved cautiously, watching your every move. You had cooled down too fast for his comfort. He knew from experience that most people who were capable of that only had more animosity hidden under the surface.

When you opened the folder, you were greeted with the shield logo, then a family crest in the shape of a shield. The internal image was an archway, looming over a shining sword that stood upright. Winding around the pillars of the arch were foxglove flowers.

"Digitalis," you muttered, studying the bright colors of the crest.

Underneath the symbol was the title "The Digitalli Family", and what followed was a story you already knew.

 

" _His family is actually quite rich," Michelle said, smoothing out the corners of the picnic blanket that you sat on together. You had insisted that the two of you go out for the day, to get away from the apartment. But really, you just wanted to see her smile again. Instead, she was talking about David._

_"Really?" You prompted, hoping that talking about it would help her heal._

_"Yeah. His family is an old one from somewhere in Europe. Lots of money, but mostly real estate. I looked them up, and it seems like they've been linked to a few crime sindicates, but no one can prove anything." She began pulling out lunch from the tote bag you had brought, and you helped her._

_"Anyway, they're a big name. They own museums, mansions, libraries, businesses, hotels, even entire countries. But for some reason, most of the information about them is swept under the rug. I guess you can do that when you own all the newspapers."_

 

"They had claims to every throne room in Europe and Asia, but never saw the crown jewels. No one knows why their members were denied royal status, though the reigning monarchs of each country that prevented their rule alluded to some family scandal," you read, rubbing your thumb along your fingers nervously.  Things were starting to fall into place in a way that was uprooting the few things you believed to be true.

"They were famous for kicking out members, and adopting new ones in. It was more a name than a bloodline, and people of all ages, races, and gender could be selected to join. It was effectively a secret organization.

"The Digitalli family's most talked-about scandal was their supposed involvement in the cannibus trade. They were rumored to grow large quantities of the drug in a secret family garden in Washington state, but no one could locate it, so the rumor was deemed a lie."

 

" _They own those big gardens in Washington. The Digitalli gardens, I think? They're supposed to be some of the most beautiful in the world." Michelle gazed off into the distance, lost in her own world. You knew that she had asked to see the gardens, but David had refused, and even threatened to wreck her car if she tried to visit them. He had claimed that he wanted to keep her safe from his family._

_"Why don't we go ourselves?" You offered, giving her an encouraging smile between bites of your sandwich. If you had looked down for a moment, or even blinked, you might have missed the look of terror that passed behind her eyes. But you didn't miss anything._

 

"One of the most prominent members of the family, originally known as Dontae Henshaw before his initiation into the family, was known for his involvement with local gangs in Serbia. It was rumored that he supplied their weaponry, and they took out targets for him. But the witnesses who claimed this under police questioning never survived past 24 hours, falling to all sorts of horrible tragedies, like poison in their last meal, or mystery siezures in the night.

"Through efforts by the European Union, Henshaw was eventually proven guilty of forgery and illegal arms dealings. He was convicted under the surprise testimony of David Digitalli, one of his own family members."

 

_"I don't think we should go. I don't know if anyone in his family would recognize me from pictures. I don't want to cause any trouble now that we're not together."_

_You knew she was hiding something. There was something keeping her from going. Some secret that she couldn't tell._

 

"After the trial, David Digitalli moved on to live a relatively normal life, which was a surprise considering his family's vengeful past. He worked as a contractor until his mysterious disappearance in 2015."

You finished reading, and turned to the next page to see a picture of David Digitalli, his blonde hair, fair skin, and pale brown eyes gazing out into your apartment.

 

 

_He stood there, staring at the dead woman in front of him. The light of a street lamp reflected off something on his sleeve and it wasn't until he reached down to pick her up that you realized his whole arm was covered in metal._

_It was so cold._

_It took everything in you not to scream._

_You must've gasped, because he turned his head. Metal hand still gripping the purple dress. And you'd never forget those eyes. Light in color, silver like the fog and the pavement and his metal arm, silver like the gun barrel tucked away at his side. Eyes as cold as the still air._

_The eyes of a killer._

_But as he turned back to the body of your best friend, you realized that the gray was only a reflection of the streetlight. In the dark, they were a rusty, light brown._

It took you less than a minute to grab your gun and run out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this one! And I hope that it makes up for my lack of updates!  
> Please please please let me know what you think, even if it's just a "eh, this was ok". I want to hear all your thoughts!  
> A big thank you to all my beautiful subscribers and commenters who keep me going! I couldn't do it without you!


	10. Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader falls apart, and Bucky is there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just some light fluff, and some scenes that needed to be included. Even though I just updated, not a lot happens in this chapter, so I figured it wouldn't hurt. Enjoy!

You had almost made it to your car when Bucky caught up with you. You had been ignoring his voice telling you to come back, sit down and talk, so now, he grabbed your arm to stop you. You spun on your heels and met his worried gaze with one of pure determination and bubbling hatred.

"Where are you going? If you know how to find him, we should sit down. Talk about it. Decide the best strategy." He was trying to calm you down, and it wasn't working. Visions of Michelle flashed before your eyes, and the longer you stood there, the more things began to make sense.

"I don't think you murdered my best friend," you admitted. You expected more of a reaction from him, but he still had the same concern etched into his features.

"Why would Hydra want her dead? What sort of threat could she possibly pose?" You began voicing the thoughts that were swirling around in your head, running in the way of a conclusion. You had almost all of the puzzle pieces.

"David Digitalli was Michelle's boyfriend," you choked out, the tears beginning to fall. Maybe you should have stopped them and composed yourself. Maybe you should have taken a moment to breath before your emotions were spilled out. You'd be ashamed of yourself for showing this much feeling later, but it didn't matter right now.

"She was always afraid of him," you continued, "and he was always threatening her to do what he wanted. Michelle always told me everything, but-" your voice cracked, "but, there was something she was hiding from me. I knew it."

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself just enough to get the words out.

"She knew about his family. And I can garuntee you that she knew something that she shouldn't have. So, what did David do? He killed her." You ran your hand through your hair, but kept talking. Your brain was working overtime, tossing it's thoughts out through your mouth.

"I always wondered why her murderer didn't do something about me. I was there. I saw it happen, and yet, he never moved a muscle in my direction. Why?

"Because he needed me to see him. He needed me to see the Winter Soldier killing my best friend, so I would never suspect him. Because of course I would suspect him! He was the only person in the world who I would think of when the police report came out." 

"Are you sure about this?" Bucky's voice was even and unwavering. His hand was still on your arm, but instead of a tight grasp, he was rubbing circles with his thumb, trying to keep you calm. It was, surprisingly, helping.

"Those eyes... David Digitalli's eyes. They're the same ones I saw on the Winter Soldier that night." You paused, and looked Bucky directly in the eyes. Those blue-gray eyes. How could you have not seen it before?

"It wasn't you." It should have felt horrible -- admitting that you were wrong all this time. But you were more relieved than anything. Questions about Michelle's murder had bothered you since it happened. Nothing had quite made sense about that night. But even without the full picture, this answer seemed to fit all of those nagging questions.

Bucky's expression softened, and the façade fell.

"I'm glad," he said quietly, and released your arm. "But right now, we need to think this through. You can't just do driving around the city looking for this guy. We've got to be smart. We can't let him know we're on his tail."

You nodded slowly, counting your breaths to calm down. He was right.

"Okay," you agreed, and let him lead you back into the apartment complex.

You walked as upright as possible, trying to keep it all together. You never cried in front of people, and you weren't about to start now. But the moment you stepped across the threshold into your apartment, the dam burst. You crumpled, barely able to keep yourself upright, even with the support of a nearby shelf. Your usually silent sobs came out as squeaks, and your whole body shook with their force. You could hear Bucky lock the door behind you, and step carefully forward. When he touched your back, you hit the floor.

Suddenly, the grief you had carried for years was catching up with you. And it hurt. Michelle had been the only person you let in. Even if she didn't know the full nature of your job, she knew everything else about you. She was your anchor in the storm, and the light in your life. You had been like sisters, and losing her had torn you apart. 

Bucky tried again to place his hand on your back, and this time you stayed still. He moved to crouch next to you, and slowly wrapped his arm across your shoulders. He rubbed yoour shoulders with the pads of his thumbs in a slow, rythmatic motion. It was a new sensation -- to have someone comfort you -- but it was a welcome one.

"You have to breathe," he urged, which prompted you to take a choking breath so deep that it felt like your lungs might collapse.

"Good, you're doing good," he continued softly, "just keep breathing."

He stayed with you until your breathing evened, and all your tears had been spent.

"Why don't you go change, and take a shower?" He offered carefully. When you didn't respond, he bargained.

"I'll make you ramen and popcorn if you do?"

You looked up at his face, which was riddled with worry. His big blue eyes looked at you like you were all that mattered in that moment; everything else could wait.

You nodded slowly, forcing your stiff limbs to untangle themselves, and pull yourself to your feet. Bucky stood with you, a careful hand at your side. You shuffled slowly to your room, each step exhausting. Each drawer took ages to open, and even getting in the shower took almost all your energy. But the water felt amazing.

When you emerged from the bathroom, clad in your favorite cozy hoodie and sweats, clinging to your dirty laundry, Bucky was standing in the kitchen in your pink apron again, cooking ramen. His hair was wrapped up in a bun, and he looked nothing like the grumpy man you had first met, shrouded in darkness. Instead, he looked...soft, sort of. Different. A small smile even graced his handsome features. A bowl of popcorn was already set out on the kitchen island, and the couch was covered in blankets and pillows that had been stashed away in one of your many boxes. You hardly had the brain power to wonder how he found them. The domesticity of the moment wasn't lost on you. And you had plenty of questions swirling around in your head, about the Henshaws, the Digitalli's, and what secret was worth all of this trouble, but for a moment, none of that mattered.

When he saw you, Bucky put the wooden spoon down and took your laundry from you.

"I'll put this in your hamper. Go ahead and sit down," he offered. You were too weak to refuse. Instead, you plopped down on the couch, and curled up against the armrest. You must have drifted off, because the next thing you were aware of was Bucky tucking a blanket around you, and holding the bowl of ramen for you to take.

"It'll help keep your throat from getting too sore. Lots of crying can do that," he said gently, and waited patiently while you shifted to grab it.

He stayed with you while you ate, eyes glued to the TV. But you could tell he was focused entirely on you by the way his head turned at the slightest sniffle or movement. And the moment you finished the soup, he had whisked it away, replacing it with popcorn.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" He asked, settling into the couch a full two feet away from you. It was obvious that he didn't know what the boundaries were, which was fair, considering you had been bent on hatred since you met him. You nodded.

"Any ideas?"

You gave him the name of your favorite musical, which he promptly pulled up. Your arm shaking, you held the popcorn bowl out to him.

"Want any?" You asked feebly. He licked his lips, unsure of himself, and scooted over so he could reach the bowl. But you retracted it, enough that he'd have to be inches from your side to have access to the salty treat. You wanted him to understand that it was okay now; all was forgiven. And, maybe, there was a part of you that desperately needed some form of human contact. He complied, and even stretched his arm across the back of the couch to give himself easier access to the bowl. You snuggled further into the blankets contentedly, and let the sounds of the movie and crunching popcorn comfort you.

You couldn't remember when you had fallen asleep, but when you woke up the next morning tucked into your own bed, you realized just how much Bucky had saved you. Without him, you would probably still be a sobbing mess, rotting in your apartment alone. He wasn't there when you woke up, but a little note on the counter told you that breakfast leftovers were in the fridge.

You had never woken up to notes on the counter, or even fallen asleep with someone at your side. You had always scoffed at the idea, and figured you didn't need it. But now, you realized that there was a giant hole in your spirit where affection and love should have been. And maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what you needed.

 

_________

 

_"Why don't you give him a call?" Michelle prompted, wiggling her eyebrows and poking you gently._

_"Michelle," you sighed, "I just don't know. I guess I don't... feel it? There's no spark. I mean, maybe on his side of the equation, but not on mine."_

_You played with your salad, focusing on the typical restaurant chatter around you. It was a habit: listening in on every conversation for clues. Even when you weren't on the job, its tendencies followed you._

_"You said that about the last guy!" Michelle's tone had changed to sound more like a whiney two-year-old than a grown ass woman, so you told her so._

_"I just think," she said, "that you should give it a try. What do you have to loose?"_

_"Look... I just don't do relationships. I can't exactly share a life with someone if the life I lead isn't even my own. I'm a con artist, if you will, and that leaves no room for love. Besides, romance never worked out for me. Maybe one day, I'll find the guy. But that's not now." Your eyes wandered sadly to couples across the establishment, who were clearly enjoying their time. It made you wonder what that was like._

_"Well, what is your Mr. Right like?" Michelle was relentless._

_"I don't know, girl! It could be anyone. I need someone who's street smart, and not get us killed. Other than that, I don't know."_

_"Hmmm." She shifted a little forward, and waited until you looked at her._

_"Let's say you do find a candidate..." you rolled your eyes. "Let's say you do. What would be your perfect date?"_

_It was an innocent enough question, and you wouldn't have answered it for the fear that she'd spread the word to one of your admirers, but you took the chance._

_"Well, I really like dancing."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, any comments/kudos are REALLY appreciated!! Thank you to all the people who have responded already!


	11. Braided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky go to Dr. Derek Lane's barbeque, and are presented with the perfect way in to the Digitalli family secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo kiddos, here's you're semi-bi-weekly-or-more-like-whenever-i-feel-like-it update.   
> This week has been rough, it's late at night, and I'm running on fumes, so no guaruntee that this chapter will be any good at all.

Your grip on Bucky's arm never faltered, and neither did your steps. He escorted you across the lawn of Derek Lane's house, holding you close. Even though you had been a sobbing mess just hours ago, you had already picked a dress for the event, and needed answers. 

Your dress was a simple knee-high lavendar thing with a gold zipper in the back. You had grabbed a pair of white flats on the way out because, quite frankly, you didn't have the energy for heels. Your head still throbbed from your afternoon nap, and it had taken all of your strength to eat and paint on some lipstick. Bucky had been there the entire time, encouraging you, and had driven you here when you hesitated to put the car keys in. You wouldn't have made it here without him.

"Are you ready to go in?" He asked gently, rubbing his thumb along your arm.

"Yeah."

The grand blue Victorian stood before you behind the lawn's Willow trees, and the smells of the barbeque from the backyard wafted over the white picket fence. The light summer breeze grazed your shoulders, and you shivered. Bucky pulled you closer.

Turning to him, you decided to make your narrative clear.

"Lane cannot know that we've figured it out. He can't know anything. We have to pretend that we know nothing. I'll prod, but we've gotta act discouraged." Your voice was sure and steady, though the butterflies in your stomach were anything but.

"Okay," he said, a soft smile gracing his features. You had come to recognize this smile as your favorite: the one reserved only for you. At least, you had never seen him use it around anyone else. You had noticed that his smile around other people, and when he first met you, was incredibly fake. Now, whenever he caught your eye, you got to see the real one. And he did have a beautiful smile.

Not that it mattered, anyway.

When you knocked on the door, it immediately swung open, as if Derek had been waiting for you.

"[Y/N]! It's great to see you again! You look beautiful in that dress. And James, if I remember correctly?" Lane held his hand out, and Bucky shook it firmly. Neither gaze wavered. There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.

"Won't you come in?"

You followed him into the house gilded in sunlight, past the big kitchen with its lapis counters, past the mahogany staircase, past the dining room and its lace curtains, and out into the backyard.

The various guests, mostly police officers and public officials, along with a few of Dr. Lane's friends, were chatting in groups with paper plates in their hands. The wings and Mac and cheese smelled delicious, but you weren't hungry. You tapped Bucky lightly, and pushed him in the direction of the food. Instead of following him, you strolled toward the garden, careful to look disappointed and burnt out. It wasn't hard.

As you had hoped, Derek followed you from a distance.

The garden was set up with a bird bath in the center, cobblestone paths leading there and through the beds of flowers. Stone benches lined the edge of the beds, like little reminders that the flowers weren't to be stepped on, as if anyone would, rather than convenient seating. You sunk into one, careful to keep your knees together, back straight, and play the role of a fair damsel in distress.

"I can't help noticing," Lane prompted, sitting down a little too close for comfort, "that you're not yourself. No luck on your case?"

You began to feel the buzz of adrenaline that came with each lead in every case that you took. He had never asked about your cases in a public setting before to keep himself safe, so why now? He was searching for something.

"Well," you sighed lightly, "we haven't had much luck. We've hit a dead end."

"That's unfortunate. I hope you pick the trail back up again."

"Thank you, Derek."

You lapsed into silence, and took the time to observe everyone present. Your eyes fell on dresses and button-downs remarkably untouched by the massive amount of barbeque sauce on their owners' plates, and feet turned to each other, engaged fully in conversation. They didn't care about you. Good. But there was one person peering through the crowd between conversation with his new aquaintence. Bucky, though sly about it, was definitely watching you. When he caught your eye, you found the corners of your mouth turning up involuntarily. He smiled back, with that beautiful grin of his, and for a moment, you almost forgot why you were there.

"So," Derek continued, leaning in, "what are your next steps? I mean... What do you even do when you've hit a dead end?"

You shook yourself, and turned to focus entirely on him.

"Well, we work whatever ends we still have. Interview old witnesses again. Talk to our people in the underground. Hope that something will turn up. It's... Tiring, to say the least. We've been over everything more times than I can count..." You paused. Some flowers behind the bench had caught your eye, so you leaned down to brush your fingers against them.

"Foxglove," you murmered, admiring the black speckles and pinks and purples of the flowers that had come to be so important in your life.

"Yes, that's right," Lane smiled, gazing at the flowers almost lovingly. "I'm surprised you remember."

You giggled softly.

"They're hard to forget. So beautiful."

"Yes. You know, if you like that sort of thing, my co-workers and I are going on a retreat to some beautiful gardens up in Washington. The owners are the family of a good friend of mine, so I'm sure they wouldn't care if I added one more person to the trip last-minute."

It took everything within you not to scream. But you held it together the best that you could. This was the perfect opportunity to get inside. You were sure that Dr. Lane was planning to keep you close and away from the case by taking you to the gardens, but you were also pretty sure that he had no idea what you knew. And there was a good chance that he didn't even know that the family he spoke of was the one you were investigating. He had probably accepted some bribe to keep their family name out of it, and was nearly clueless about the whole situation. You hoped that was true.

"Well," you said, gears in your head spinning rapidly, "I would hate to leave the case like this. I've hardly made any progress..."

"Then this will be perfect for you. A week away from the case to reset and recuperate."

"But what about Bu -- what about James? He's been working his tail off for this." Your bait had been set.

"Well, why don't you both come?" He had taken the bait. Derek spread his hands out, with a big grin on his face, like he had solved the greatest dilemma of the decade. You smiled excitedly, playing along.

"Perfect! I think we do need the break, after all."

"Excellent. We leave on Sunday morning, in my private jet. I'll send you the airfield's address."

"Thank you, really. I cannot say how much I appreciate this. I haven't had a vacation in years."

 

_______

 

_You were eating scrambled eggs at the kitchen island with Bucky across from you, watching. You kept getting your wet hair stuck in your face, but barely had the energy to put it back._

_"Do you want me to put your hair up for you?"_

_There was a pregnant pause while you considered. Bucky looked so unsure, so eager to please, and it melted your heart._

_"Yes, please."_

_He smiled, and grabbed a few hair ties from the bookshelf by your doorway._

_"Ponytail?" He asked, moving to stand behind you. It was an odd sensation, having someone so close behind you. You usually never let anyone near you if you couldn't see them. But somehow, this was different._

_"You can do whatever you want to," you mumbled through bites of egg. He hummed in agreement, and began by running his fingers straight through your hair. You had to suppress your chills._

_"Let me know if you want me to stop," Bucky said, hands still pulling the tangles from your hair. You nodded._

_He continued as you ate, pulling your hair into sections, and braiding them. His knuckles would brush up against the skin of your neck, and you would have to restrain yourself from leaning in against his hands. You practically melted under his tender touch._

_"Done."_

_All you could think about was how badly you wanted it to never end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovelies! Please leave a comment with any feedback you have!! I love hearing from you ♥️


	12. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky spend some quality time together before you leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooooo it's almost midnight and I'm still up, writing away.  
> This chapter is just some fluff for your enjoyment, because I've been focusing way too much on the plot (who needs plot when you can have fluff?).  
> Enjoy!

"Okay, so--" you managed to say, barely keeping the ramen from spilling out of your mouth. You stood in the doorway to your room, looking out into the living room at Bucky, who was typing away at his computer. You had your pink onesie on, much to his enjoyment, and were wiping away at it with a Tide Pen to remove a chocolate stain from yesterday while balancing your bowl of soup in your other hand. You finished chewing, and swallowed, before continuing.

"So, my theories are this--" with a frustrated cry, you threw the Tide Pen, which had failed to work, at the couch cushions next to Bucky. He raised an eyebrow, but kept typing. "They say they suspected the Digitalli family of growing Cannabis in some gardens in Washington, and everyone knows about the Digitalli Gardens, so either they're really good at hiding it, or that wasn't ever a crime scene. All their property and friends' property was checked. They got nothing. So we gotta figure that out. Second: Henshaw is a familiar name. Do we think our witness is involved?"

You only received a grunt in response. Batens was completely absorbed in whatever he was doing, shoulders hunched forward, eyes squinting at the screen in front of him. You continued anyway, but set your bowl down on the floor in the meantime.

"Maybe she is, or maybe there's no connection. Either way, someone scared David Digitalli after he testified, so he runs off. Cool. We've got that side of the story. But what he's been up to in the meantime, including why he's a serial killer, is what we really need to answer. You following me?"

Another grunt. In retaliation, you pushed yourself off from the doorway, and flung yourself onto the couch, nearly sending Bucky's computer flying. He yelled, you laughed, and it took a few minutes for everything to settle down.

"You weren't listening to me!" You whined, making a pouty face in protest.

"I was!" He said, lips curled in disbelief.

"Then what was I saying?'

Much to your dismay, he repeated everything that you had said word for word.

"Fine."

"Continue."

"So, what I'm thinking is this:" you settled and crossed your legs, facing towards your partner. This time, he watched you (not intently enough for your liking) with one eyebrow slightly raised. "Digitalli testifies against Henshaw, and someone in the family threatens him. He goes into hiding, tries to get a normal life, but it doesn't work out too well. That's when he robs the grocery store for money, and Louisa Henshaw sees him. After he kills the innocent bystander, he realizes he's in danger, and decides to cover his tracks."

You spread your arms out, waiting for Bucky's response. He nods.

"And that's why he murdered Michelle. Because she was a threat to his safety," he continues for you. It's your turn to nod silently.

"Sounds like a solid theory. Now we just have to put it to the test."

You groan, and flop back against the armrest of your beloved couch.

"What now?" He grumbles, but continues to type.

"We've been doing nothing but work for the mission for days now. We're about to leave for the trip to the gardens, and we'll get information then." You hauled your head back upright to stare at him.

"Don't you want a break?"

"Aren't you the one who's been spitting theories all day?"

You grumbled incomprehensibly in response.

He slammed his computer shut, and you jumped. Without saying a word, he slid it under the couch, stood up, and made his way swiftly to the door. He grabbed a set of house keys from the bookshelf, and turned back to you.

"You coming or not?"

"What?" You yelled. "I'm confused as hell here. Where are we going?"

"Out." Was his only response before he left you sitting there, alone on the couch in your onesie. So you grabbed a jacket to make yourself look at least somewhat presentable, and followed him out.

When you caught up to him on the busy streets, he hardly turned to offer a glance. But everyone else around you was suddenly very interested.

"Like you've never seen a grown ass woman in a onesie before", you muttered under your breath, struggling to keep up with your partner, with whom you were getting increasingly annoyed. You may have missed it, but he cracked a smile for a moment.

You wound through crowds and around buildings, pushing past people rushing to work or lunch or something. You tried multiple times to force an answer out of Bucky, but he refused to tell you where you were going.

"I swear to God, on my life, and on my mother's grave, that I will go back home right now if you don't tell me where we're going."

"Your mother's dead?"

"Maybe. That's not important."

You nearly ran into him when he came to a complete stop.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"We're here."

Apparently, "here" was an adorable little cafe with a bright pink wooden door, and a sign above it that said "Sweet Café" with a little swirl of frosting on top. Bucky held the door open for you, and you caught sight of a soft smile gracing his lips when you looked him in the eyes.

"Thank you," you huffed, and entered the little business.

It was brightly decorated, with baby blue walls and framed children's drawings everywhere. One wall, to the right of you, was exposed brick, and the floor was a brilliant, glittering white. Directly in front of you was a little counter, with a glass case that covered the ice cream below it. To your left was an open seating area with plastic Ikea chairs and tables. Bucky pushed you in by the small of your back, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't feel comfortable.

"How can I help you both today?" The cashier said, a bright smile on his face, and an even brighter green apron that put your onesie to shame.

"I'll have the double chocolate single scoop in a cone, please," Bucky asked quickly, and dug around in his pocket for his wallet.

"What about you?" The man behind the counter asked politely. You had hardly looked at the options when Bucky interjected.

"Don't worry about the prices, Doll. I'm paying."

Fifteen bucks and three ice cream scoops later, you were both lounging next to one of the windows in the ice cream cafe, watching people go by. And, for once, you were letting your guard drop a little in public. You had a full stomach, and your eyes were drooping a little, and the soft sunlight streaming in through the window definitely didn't help matters.

"You look happy," Bucky said. You hadn't even realized he had been watching you. You could feel your cheeks heating up a little as you met his gaze.

"Yeah. Thank you for the desert."

He smiled, that secret smile just for you, and it was like time stopped for that moment. It was, of course, just the sugar that made your heart beat like that.

"Anytime, Doll."

Damn. Every time he used that nickname, you could swear something in you did a backflip.

With a smile, you turned back to the window, and continued watching the people going by, trying to ignore Bucky's eyes on you. It wasn't easy.

 

_________

 

Pacific Rim played on the TV, there was popcorn in your mouth, and you could feel Bucky's thigh resting against yours in your dark apartment. Even with the boxes still stacked against the walls, it was beginning to feel a little more like home.

There was a blanket covering both of you, and every once in a while, you would snuggle a little farther into the couch for warmth, and each time, a little closer to your new friend. You should've felt uncomfortable, and unnerved and not nearly as content as you did now. But maybe it was the fact that he was used to living on the run, too, and there was nothing you could hide from him, or maybe it was the fact that every time something funny happened, he looked at you with those beautiful steely eyes and that blinding smile. Either way, for a moment, your brain was turned off, and all that mattered was this moment, here on your couch with Bucky Barnes.

Soon enough, the movie ended. But you were fast asleep, tucked carefully against his shoulder. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please leave comments and feedback because I don't really know where I'm going with this. I mean, I know how the mystery side is gonna end, but not the relationship. So, send your opinions and whatnot! I love hearing from my wonderful readers!!


	13. Al MacKenzie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet someone knew who might just be a help in the case, whether you want him to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd first like to apologise because this isn't much of an update, but I've been sick for a week, and am insanely busy. I'd also like to apologise for MacKenzie's characterization, because I never actually watched Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., so I know nothing about him. I just needed a slightly recognizable name and was having a brain fart. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

You spent the entire flight to Washington practically squashed against Bucky. Even though Derek had encouraged everyone, especially you, to mill about the cabin and enjoy the various luxuries onboard, you could hardly move. Your stomach was queasy, your anxiety gnawing at its walls. This case had become very personal very fast, and you weren't prepared for this level of stress. With other jobs, there was always the sweet detachment that comes from a lack of personal connection, but currently, the idea of being close to your best friend's killer sent chills up your spine and put your emotions on high alert.

Maybe Bucky could sense all this, or maybe he was nervous too, but either way, he remained pressed up against you, gazing out the window that was next to him. The few times that you felt comfortable enough to temporarily ignore the important people on board, you would watch with him, taking in the fluffy white clouds and occasional glimpses of the world below. Takeoff had been beautiful, hovering above the skyscrapers and then the fields outside of the city. And now, you could see farmlands so far below that any civilization was invisible to the naked eye.

You had only been flying for an hour, but it had felt like an eternity. You preferred travel by land to remain inconspicuous. Airport security would definitely notice the "tools" you used for your job, and there were too many people going in and out of airports not to have someone recognize you from an old job. And besides, travel by air was risky. You could always crash, and planes could be hijacked. No, you were always content to avoid air travel. So you were completely inexperienced, but definitely had not held Bucky's hand during takeoff to calm down.

With seven hours still left between stops (the disadvantage to private jets, you had been told, was the frequent stops to fill their tiny gas tanks) you decided to use an old trick of yours.

Reaching into your backpack, you pulled out a pair of earbuds, and one of your cheaper laptops (the ones you used as fakes; if anyone found your real laptop, it would all be over). You cracked it open, plugged your earbuds in, and scrolled through Netflix before picking a random movie. Bucky watched you wordlessly before shifting over to look out the window once more. You muted your computer, and listened to the conversations around you.

An elderly woman who was dressed a bit too much like the Queen of England was chatting up a young man, probably one of Lane's colleagues, about the nuances in an essay by Thomas Paine. A middle-aged giant of a man stood next to you, arguing with a Ms. Ogunika about the causes of the Rwandan Genocide. You filtered through these and more conversations before finally landing on your target. Though your eyes were trained on the movie in front of you, your mind was entirely focused on Derek Lane.

Dr. Lane was on the phone, speaking lowly and quickly. The details of what he said were difficult to make out, but you tried your best.

"Yes.... Yes, I know.... No one's on the case as of right now.... Yes, I'm keeping her away from there...." There was a large gap where you couldn't make out anything from above the other conversations, but you kept listening.

"....you said her name was Michelle?"

Your blood ran cold.

"Why does that matter? ....I see....understood. If she's dead, why would it..."

"Ms. [Y/L/N]?"

You forced yourself to look up at the burly man standing in front of you, who had evidently lost his debate buddy.

"Yes?" You prompted, slightly rudely.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to say, that's one of my favorite movies."

You turned back to your screen, trying to remember which one you had selected.

"Hundred Foot Journey?"

"Yes ma'am. I grew up in France in a little town by the coast. There were all sorts of restaurants just blocks away from us, and we would visit them all. This movie reminds me of that. The--blending, I guess?--of cultures. The markets, and the competition."

You could tell he was lying by the way his left pinky twitched. You had beaten three men at poker who had the same Tell.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name?" You said, paranoia picking at your bones.

"Robert Hughes," he said politely, but when he leaned in for a handshake, he whispered something different.

"Al MacKenzie."

You were going to kill Sam Wilson.

 

_______

 

"You sent a fucking agent to help?!" You whispered furiously into the mouthpiece of the payphone. Bucky stood right next to you, watching the passers-by to make sure no one was listening. Not that anyone passing by on a Seattle sidestreet would care.

"I don't know what you're talking about, [Y/N]."

You were beyond pissed right now. Not only had you just met a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on YOUR job, but he had cut you off from hearing a vital conversation, and had grabbed your attention so suddenly that you hadn't noticed your phone slipping from your lap until it hit the ground. When you had picked it up, it's screen was shattered in a million directions, and it refused to function correctly. Sure, you had at least four other backup phones, but that was the only one that didn't have something incriminating on it. The rest were hidden.

"Does Al MacKenzie ring any bells? This bastard shows up on my job--" Bucky tapped your arm lightly, a signal to be quiet. "This bastard," you continued in a whisper again, "shows up on my job, in the middle of a private retreat on the way to my biggest lead, and you're telling me you have no idea?"

"Look, S.H.I.E.L.D. fell apart a long time ago. I doubt any one of us sent him. He probably got whiff of something suspicious, and decided to hunt around. I don't know."

"How the hell does he know who I am?"

Another tap on your arm.

"I said I don't know. You'll have to ask him yourself."

There was a pause punctuated by a sigh before he continued.

"Look, I have my own problems over here. Which is exactly why I sent you to figure this out for me. Let me know if you find anything."

With that, he hung up.

You groaned, and slammed the phone down. Tossing your hands at your sides, and throwing your head back, you groaned louder. The pine trees and mountains that you could see out of the corner of your eye didn't respond, but Bucky Barnes did.

"You okay?"

"Mmmh fine," you mumbled.

This was going to be a long trip.

But a part of you was glad that you had one more ally. You were going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know what you're thinking!! Of the whole fic, or just this chapter. Any feedback is wonderful!!


	14. Living Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader wakes from a nightmare, and meets the next victim of David Digitalli's killing spree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! I now have 19 subscribers to this fic!! I can't believe it!! Thank you so much to everyone who follows this!! It means the world to me.
> 
> WARNING:  
> This chapter may be difficult for sensitive readers. There is a dead body, though the details aren't described, just the smell of blood and the fact that the body is there. That's it, but I want to want y'all ahead of time just in case it freaks you out.

You struggled in your restraints, doing everything in your power to wiggle your hands free. They were tied behind your back, over the chair that you were seated in. Your legs were also tied to it, and you had been blindfolded. You twisted and turned silently, remembering the lessons you had been taught as a young girl.

_Don't ever let them know what you're doing, or what you're thinking._

_Be silent. Be cunning. Be cool._

You breathed in slowly and deeply, and tried to keep your heart from racing.

_Anyone can fight. Your only advantage is their ignorance. Play stupid. The men will always believe it._

You tugged a little too hard with your arm, and you could feel your shoulder scream in pain. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, and tasted blood. You had definitely sprained something.

_Move quickly. Don't hesitate. Don't be afraid_.

The ropes began to loosen.

_Whatever happens, you must keep the element of surprise. It's your only weapon._

Your hands were free! You pulled your arms around the back of the chair slowly, carefully, making sure not to strain your shoulder. With the same amount of care, you removed the blindfold.

_Learn everything about your surroundings. Know each detail. Knowing what's around you, what you can use as a weapon, and where you can hide will save your life._

But there was nothing. Just white. You, and the chair, and nothingness. You stared off into it, trying to make sense of it.

_Don't be afraid._

But you could feel fear gnawing at your bones, and your breathing grow shallow and fast. Where were you?

Just then, you felt a sharp pain in your side. You looked down, and were met with a kitchen knife sticking out of your abdomen. Blood soaked your clothes where it was buried deep, and it's handle had fingerprints of blood, as if the person who had stabbed you had killed before.

You were so terrified, you couldn't even scream.

But suddenly, the nothingness around you turned black, and the knife disappeared, and you were no longer in the chair. Instead, you were wrapped in the blankets of a hotel bed, gripping the sheets like your life depended on it. You were sitting up, staring into the room around you, heart beating faster than a hummingbird's. You took a few deep breaths, and counted to fifteen in your head as you adjusted to your surroundings. It was a simple hotel room, with the reds and beiges and generic photographs of flowers on the wall. There was only one queen-sized bed, with its headboard against the wall. In the dark you could see the flashing lights of the mini fridge,  microwave, smoke detectors, and AC unit. Illuminated by their light was the form of Bucky Barnes, who was currently standing next to your bed, holding your arms. What you could see of his face looked worried.

"[Y/N]?" He said softly, rubbing your forearm with his thumb. "It was just a dream. You're okay."

You counted to fifteen again in your head, this time slowly.

"Are you okay?"

Suddenly, you realized how ridiculous you must look. You had a nightmare, like a kindergartener. And now Bucky was in your room, checking on you like mother who has to coddle their child before it'll sleep again.

"I'm fine," you said, but your voice cracked before you could finish your sentence. "I'm fine," you said again, this time without wavering. You looked him in the eyes, or at least what you could see of his eyes.

"What happened?" He prompted, continuing to rub.

Suddenly, it was too much for you. You yanked your arms from his grasp, and scooted off the edge of the bed. When your feet hit the carpeted floor, you took off at a speedwalking pace Olympian Athletes would be jelous of.

"[Y/N]?"

"Leave me alone. I'm going for a walk!" You yelled, and stormed out of the door. As you rushed down the hallway, you continued to count to fifteen, over and over again. Once you reached the stairwell at the end of the yellow hallway, you switched gears. When you had experienced nightmares as a kid, your mother would always have you recount the previous day. It helped ground you in reality. So, you recited in your head everything that you could remember.

You had woken up at your alarm, and changed out of your pink onesie into something more appropriate: jeans and a nice blouse. You had eaten raisin bran with milk while you watched an episode of Project Runway, and then finished packing. Bucky knocked at your door, and you let him in. He helped you finish getting your stuff together, and chatted with you while you had done your makeup and hair. You didn't remember all the details of the conversation, only that at one point he had winked at you teasingly. That was the only part you seemed capable of remembering.

You had driven to the airfield and sung along to Taylor Swift in the car, made it on time, and gave your bags to Dr. Lane to put in the belly of the plane. You had spent the trip doing your best to listen to every conversation, but eventually ended up talking to Bucky about modern airports. You remembered meeting Al MacKenzie, and yelling at Sam Wilson over the phone once you landed. You had checked into the hotel with the rest of the retreat crew, and settled into your room, which was next to Bucky's. There was a wooden door separating the two rooms, and a joined deck outside of sliding glass doors next to the AC unit. You settled down, reread all the information you had on David Digitalli for quite possibly the thousandth time in the last month, and went to bed. Then, Bucky had woken you up from a nightmare.

You figured he was the best person to wake you, since you didn't trust anyone else, but it made you uncomfortable to think that he had seen you like that. Fear made you feel weak. There were times when he would fall asleep on your couch, and you could hear whimpers and whispers from inside your room, but you had never gone to investigate because you had never dealt with someone having a nightmare before. You didn't know what to do. Yet there he was, waking you up and making sure you were okay.

You were practically running once you reached the bottom of the stairs, and crashed into the door, sending it flying open. You rushed through the lobby, where a lone desk clerk jolted awake from her nap on the job, just to see you run past and crash into yet another door, this time the one that lead to the gym.

The gym was really just about the size of the lobby, with a couple treadmills and some yoga mats stacked in the corner. One of the overhead lights flickered, and something that looked less like shadows and more like cockroaches moved in the corner. You didn't stop running until you reached the middle of the room, and slowed to a stop. You were still breathing hard and fast, but pulled your arms to your side and widened your stance, as if you were preparing to fight. You imagined that you were back in your gym at home, and your Tae Kwon Do teacher was standing nearby, shouting instructions.

"Three!" You heard him in your head, and you moved into third position.

"Seven!" You moved into seventh.

"One!" You moved back to first.

This continued as the minutes ticked by, and the adrenaline from your nightmare tapered off. Slowly, your movements slowed, and you began to grow tired. Practicing your forms never failed to cool you down.

"You know Tae Kwon Do?"

You whipped around, only to be met with Al MacKenzie in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants. It would have been funnier if you weren't standing there sweating in your favorite pink onesie.

"What's it to you?" You asked, and relaxed your arms at your sides.

"It's important to know how to kick ass on a job like this," he said, and moved forward slowly, like he was expecting an attack.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Listen, I know people like you, and I know how you can get territorial about your jobs. But this is way bigger than you. The only reason you haven't died yet is because you've got the Winter Soldier with you. I'm a real agent, who did this for a living. The reality is: I know what I'm doing, and you don't. So make whatever stupid decisions you want to, snoop around and get caught, whatever, just make sure you don't fuck it up for me."

He said all of this with complete calm, his expression never changing while yours twisted in frustration. But you knew better than to pick a fight, and your energy level was remarkably low.

"Why are you here? And why do you care? Also, why did you even bother to talk to me? I'm not your problem. It's, what, one in the morning? And you just had to come down here and brag about how you were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent once."

"Hey, I'm just here for the treadmill. And why I'm on this job has nothing to do with you."

"Well, have fun." You turned around, and headed to the side door next to the one you had entered through. You had heard from one of the guests checking in that there was a shower attached to the gym, and there was only one way to find out if they were right. Maybe you could clean up and wait for the jerk to leave.

When you swung the door open, you were greeted with the pervasive metallic smell of blood. And, lying less than twenty feet from you, was the body of Dr. Derek Lane.

A very dead Derek Lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this so far!! I'm now at fourteen chapters, I think? It's hard to believe that I've written this much. I'll take any feedback I can get! I want to know what you expect from this fic, what your favorite parts are, and what you don't particularly like. It helps me know what to write, so I can cater to your interests better.  
> I already have the next chapter planned out, but I'm saving that for later. This one is about 1600 words, so I've written enough for tonight.  
> Have a wonderful night/day, my lovelies!!


	15. Author's Note

Hey all! First, I wanted to say a big Thank You to everyone who is following this story!! I really really really appreciate your support!!

That being said, I need help. I know how this fic is gonna end, but I don't know how I'm going to get there. There's been a lull in the feedback I've been receiving, so I have no idea if I'm meeting your expectations or not.

So I'd like to ask that anyone who is currently reading this will give me feedback, even if it's something as simple as "it's okay".

I want to know what you like and what you dislike about this story. I want to know what aspects of my writing I can improve, but mostly I want to know what sort of storytelling you want to see. I've been focusing a lot on the murder mystery side of things, so do you want more of that, or more romance weaved in? Or more just straight romance?

What is your favorite chapter? Or favorite scene? Do you have any plot ideas? What parts made you cringe? What wasn't clear? What characters or relationships would you like to see more of, or less of?

Even if it's something as simple as "I wish your chapter titles were a little more concise" or "I wish your summaries included less/more information".

I. Want. All. The. Feedback.

I know I'm a mediocre writer, so bear in mind that my writing is not going to be perfect. 

I'm writing this fic for all of you. And I can't write it for you if I don't know what you want.

So, please, let me know! I don't bite!

Much love,

Latte ♥️


	16. The Picture Frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky are invited to stay at the Digitalli mansion after Dr. Lane's murder, but it begins to look like you're in over your heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy loves! My school got shut down for two weeks because of COVID-19, which means that I will (hopefully) be cranking out chapters faster. Just bear in mind that I have two other series in progress, along with a million other things to do, so no guarantee that I'll actually post more.  
> Enjoy!

Full consciousness came in flashes. It was like you were living in a daze, barely aware of your surroundings. You could hear the officer asking you questions...could see his name tag...Perez? Perle? You couldn't read it. The voices and sirens and rushing around was so overwhelming. You could hear yourself answering the officer's questions, and feel the faint pressure of Bucky against you, one arm clutching your shoulders and his free one holding your hand, rubbing circles slowly with his thumb. You didn't remember the police leaving, or the sirens fading away, or voices dying down. But suddenly, you were aware of Bucky's comforting voice in your ear, telling you to breath in time with him. You did, and began to feel alive again as the world stopped spinning. You were on a wooden bench in front of the hotel, with potted plants on either side, nestled so closely to Bucky that it was almost suffocating. But it felt good, especially after what just happened. Once you got ahold of yourself, you felt ashamed.

Your job, though not for the faint of heart, was still somewhat sheltered from significant violence. You had always taken the slightly less dangerous jobs, and were usually out of the way before shit hit the fan. Sure, you had seen people die, but Lane's death was different. You probably should've expected it, given his involvement in the case, and it wasn't like you witnessed the murder itself, but it had shaken you to your core. After having that nightmare, and then arguing with MacKenzie, you had been far from prepared to find a dead body in the basement of a hotel. But, so was the job.

Bucky must have noticed you drifting off again, because he asked you softly,

"Are you ok?"

You nodded weakly, slowly, and he pressed his lips into your hair in a soft kiss.

Any other day, and with any other man, you would've aimed for the nuts with your foot, but there was something immeasurably comforting about it. So you leaned against him, bent your head into the crook of his neck, and closed your eyes. He continued to rub the back of your hand, and held you close. It felt like heaven in the middle of this hell.

"Ms. [Y/N]? Mr. Barnes?"

You nuzzled into Bucky's neck, and ignored the man in front of you. For once in a long time, you felt safe enough to let someone else handle everything.

"May we help you, sir?" Bucky asked politely, never releasing his grip on you.

"Yes. My name is Khaki Digitalli, a member of the Digitalli family whose gardens your retreat was planning on visiting."

You unhinged yourself from Bucky, and opened your eyes to meet Khaki's gaze. He was a sturdy little man with a pot belly, clean-shaven face, and ears larger than Curious George's. He wore jeans and a button-down with a black velvet overcoat, and he could've passed as any hotel guest if not for the solid gold belt buckle encrusted with diamonds that shone brilliantly in the light from the streetlamps. The Digitalli smiled at you warmly, and bowed slightly.

"On behalf of my family, we would like to extend an invitation to you both and the rest of your retreat group to stay in our personal mansion on the gardens' grounds. We will provide food and drinks 24/7, and you will have full access to the gardens, including our private ones. We would hate for this tragedy to ruin your opinion of your visit, even if you haven't had a chance to experience our gardens yet."

You were about to open your mouth to respond when something caught your eye. Out in the parking lot, a woman was getting into her BMW. As she stepped up into the driver's seat, the light eminating from the hotel lobby glinted off the side of her face. And there was no mistaking that face.

"Is everything alright, Miss?"

You snapped your head back around, and forced a weak smile.

"We're truly thankful for your offer. It would be a dream to stay in your mansion."

Khaki nodded, and continued in the lane of small talk, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. And you were sure that it was the same for you.

The ride to the Digitalli gardens took an eternity. Your leg bounced rapidly the whole way there. You needed to tell Bucky what you had seen, but not with everyone else crowded into this limousine. You practically leapt out when it pulled up to the mansion. Khaki had already promised that his personal manservant would oversee the delivery of your bags to your room, and you didn't have the energy or time to worry about someone looking through your belongings.

The Digitalli mansion stood before you in all its marble and brick glory. It looked more like a plantation house than a grand Northwest mansion, with it's palladian windows and columns, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Above the massive mahogany door hung a large black light, an iron-wrought-something that looked like it belonged in the nineteenth century. It illuminated the paved walkway, and the faces of the poor hotel guests who had been awoken for questioning just hours earlier. Al MacKenzie was among them, but hung back.

Khaki's manservant held the door open, and people flooded in. The floors were granite or marble or some type of stone drenched in the blackest black, with flecks and stripes of white. In the middle of the foyer was a massive tabletop made of some tree that was once older than anything on the land it now inhabited. It was just a chunk of the trunk; no legs. On its surface rested a 3D replica of the crest, minus the shield shape: a soapstone archway modeling the ionic columns outside, clay foxglove flowers climbing it. In the middle, a sword stuck out from the table, it's golden hilt catching the orange light from the lantern just outside the door. It was beautiful, and very real.

On either side of the table, white stone steps curved out from the ground, toward the top floor of the building. The part of the first floor that was visible was a greeting area, with carpet and expensive couches and chairs around a few even more expensive-looking coffee tables. Everything was black, white, and gold, except for the few potted plants.

"Ms. [Y/N], Mr. Barnes, would you please follow me?" The manservant asked, his arms full of your bags. You nodded, and followed him up the stairs to your right. Bucky followed some distance behind, carefully taking in every detail.

The top of the stairs was carpeted, with a material so white and fluffy that you felt ashamed to walk on it. You continued to pass door after door, until you reached the end of the hallway. On either side were rooms, whose doors the manservant opened.

"Ms. [Y/N], yours is on the right. Mr. Barnes, yours is to the left."

Bucky smiled, tipped, and thanked him, and helped you carry your bags into your room.

It was a very large room, gilded in navy blue and grays. The occasional gold accent brought life to the otherwise dark living space, and you were sure that the windows extending the width of the room would bring in a lot more light by morning. For now, it was so dark that you couldn't see whatever hideous wallpaper lined the wall. As you stood looking around, Bucky watched you.

"You saw something, didn't you?" He asked in a low voice.

"Henshaw. I saw Louisa Henshaw."

"What?"

"I saw her getting into a red BMW. I know the license."

"You're sure it was her?"

You stared vacantly at his face, exhausted.

"I don't know, Buck, I don't know."

His expression softened.

"Get some sleep, Pink. We'll talk more tomorrow."

You nodded, and he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in this empty room. You wandered to the bed, and sat down by its headboard, which had flowers and foxes carved into it. You ran your fingers along the design, before deciding to turn on the light so that you could actually see to unpack your things. You leaned over to the bedside stand, and pulled the cord for the lamp that sat there. You could suddenly see everything, including the wallpaper.

The wallpaper that was covered in foxglove flowers.

You wanted to rip it to shreds. The only thing that stopped you was the picture frame on the nightstand that had now been illuminated in the light. 

It was Michelle, smiling wide, in the same purple dress that she had been murdered in.

 It was a warning. They knew you were here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Let me know what you think ♥️♥️


	17. Hold Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the part with the bed sharing. Need I say more?

You didn't know what you had been expecting when you knocked on Bucky's door. You just knew that you had to find somewhere safe. It was strange, that you were seeking out someone in your time of need, but you had rushed to his door without a second thought. There would be time to scold yourself in the morning.

He cracked the door open a little at first, then swung it wide open when he saw your face. He beckoned you in silently, and shut the door behind you. He held his arms out, and was about to ask what was wrong, when you fell into his grasp. You were shaking uncontrollably.

"Hey, hey, what happened? I've got you. You're okay."

Suddenly, you broke apart from him, and bolted to the bathroom on the other side of the room. You landed on your knees, threw the toilet seat up, and immediately lost whatever was left of your dinner to the porcelain.

"Breath," Bucky encouraged, and held your hair back while you spit the gross bits out. You began sobbing and shaking some more, desperately trying to breathe. Everything hurt, especially your chest. It felt like someone had grabbed your heart and was yanking it back and forth.

He pulled you backwards, and helped wipe your fash with a tissue you didn't remember him getting. Then, he gently lifted you onto his lap, where you curled up against his chest and continued crying. You were a private person, and usually very good at saving your tears for later, but right now, you needed reassurance. The idea of being alone in that room terrified you. You hadn't been awake even twelve hours, and it felt like living hell. You desperately needed comfort.

While your sobs subsided, Bucky continued to rub your back, kiss your head, and hum softly. Soon enough, you had calmed down. You still held on to him, and he didn't let you go.

"What happened, doll?"

You let out a rackety breath.

"There was a picture... A photo... On the nightstand. It was Michelle. My friend. Before she was killed."

You could hear him release a calculated breath.

"I think they know why we're here," you said, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

"Okay. That's okay. We're more than capable of dealing with them. For now, we just have to stay on our toes and be safe."

You felt him shift beneath you, and panic settled into your soul.

"I can't go back in there," you choked out, and he held you even closer, cooing.

"No, of course not. You don't have to. You can stay with me."

You nodded against his tear-stained shirt, and let him run his hand through your hair. You could feel your body relaxing, and your heart rate slow.

"Will it be okay if I pick you up and move you to the bed?"

You nodded again.

He hauled himself up on his feet slowly, carefully cradling you the whole way. He moved gracefully across the carpet, and laid you down on the quilted covers of his four-post bed. Before letting you go completely, he tucked your hair behind your ear, and pulled the blankets over your weak form. You snuggled in under the covers, letting the exhaustion from the long night help you drift off. When you heard Bucky shuffle around and begin making a bed on the floor next to you, you were stirred to conciousness enough to reach out for him. You made a grabbing motion with your hands, and he looked up from his work to see you sleepily begging for his presence.

"What do you need, doll?" He asked softly.

You made a "hmphf" noise, and continued to grab the air in his direction.

"Do you want me to sleep with you?" He sounded so unsure and maybe a little afraid, but it didn't matter to your sleepy mind. You nodded slowly, and he walked around to the other side of the bed, and climbed in. You could immediately feel the warmth radiating off of him. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you rolled over, and wrapped your arms around his metal one. You clung on like your life depended on it, and buried your face into his shoulder. You felt it shake when he chuckled softly.

"Goodnight, [Y/N]."

The next thing you were aware of was waking up to the sounds of other guests talking in the hallways. You were too exhausted to open your eyes, but were very aware of Bucky's flesh arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and his breath on the top of your head where his face was buried in your hair. You could even feel his feet tangled with yours, but you didn't react. It felt too comfortable, too perfect, to move. So you drifted off again, but this time, a soft smile graced your tear-stained face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was really short, but it needed to be included and I couldn't figure out how to incorporate it.  
> Anyway, as usual, any feedback is very much appreciated! Thank you in advance!


	18. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast and a few discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my babies!! I hope everything is going well.   
> Not a ton happens in this chapter, and I know I haven't updated as much as I could, I'm just hitting a bit of writer's block with this fic.  
> Enjoy!

The ten o'clock sun was streaming in through delicate banquet curtains, onto the tables and the people that sat at them. Particles of air caught the light, and drifted through the line of sight as they were pushed by drafts in the room. The windows were open behind the curtains, letting in the sounds of birds and sprinklers watering the Digitalli gardens.

The banquet hall was altogether elegant and tasteful, as expected, and you would have loved the deep maroon curtains and tablecloths if they didn't remind you so much of blood. The smells of breakfast and the sunlight on your back was nearly sending your to sleep.

"They were out of bacon, so I grabbed you some sausage instead."

Bucky broke you from your reverie with a plate of steaming food that he placed in front of you. It smelled heavenly.

"Thank you, Buck," you smiled lazily, letting your sight linger a little longer on his face. His blue eyes were alight in the sun, and a little extra stubble was definitely a good look on him.

"No problem, Doll," he replied, lightly touching your shoulder before seating himself next to you. After spending a night snuggled against him, a little light touch certainly didn't bother you.

You ate in silence, taking in the comfort of the moment. You didn't want to think about the picture frame, or Derek Lane's body, or even why you were here. You just wanted to relax for a few minutes.

But, as fate would have it, you didn't get to relax. A redheaded waitress heading into the Hall dropped a massive stack of plates, and as they came crashing to the floor, both you and Bucky leapt to your feet in surprise. You were going to sit back down, but none of the other staff helped her. They left her there, shaking, desperately trying to pick up the pieces of shattered plates. So you got out of your seat, and moved to help her.

"Watch my breakfast," you called over your shoulder to Bucky, and crouched down next to the waitress to start picking up large pieces. Her eyes went wide, and you could see the faint mascara stains underneath them. It must have been a stressful day already.

"Oh Ma'am, you don't have to do that!"

"I know, but who else is helping you? I don't mind."

She looked like she wanted to complain, but you sent her a pointed look, so she just continued working. 

Finally, one of the kitchen staff brought a couple of small bathroom garbage bags, which you filled with the broken porcelain.

"Thank you so, so much," the redhead began, reaching out for your bag, but you held it close to your person.

"Let me help you carry this down. We don't want another accident, do we?"

She hesitated for a moment, and you could see a hidden fear in her eyes. It remained there for a moment, but quickly flickered out. She nodded.

You bolstered the bag through the door behind a (closed) bar, down a few flights of steps, and into the kitchen. 

"It's a wonder you all can make it up and down these stairs without dropping food every time!" You said, and she laughed nervously.

The kitchen was spotless white and stainless steel, with staff running everywhere. You were caught in the clamor of it all when a burly little mustached man hobbled up to you.

"Where is your uniform?!" He yelled, and most of the kitchen turned to look at you. Luckily, the waitress you were helping stepped forward.

"Chef! She's a guest!"

The little man looked shocked, and apologized profusely, but you just nodded.

"I'm here to help because none of your staff did," you said, glancing at the various people rushing about.

The chef turned around, and began yelling in a language you weren't familiar with. And as he turned, and his clothes shifted, you got a whiff of what smelled like skunk spray. He had definitely been smoking something.

The redheaded waitress hurriedly took your bag from you, and set it down on the counter. You could hear what was left of the plates shatter even more, but she obviously didn't care as she ushered you back up the steps.

When you returned to the banquet hall and seated yourself next to Bucky, he raised an eyebrow: a silent question.

"Nothing. But the cook had been smoking something." All this was said in a murmur, but the soldier's excellent hearing no doubt picked up on it. By the look on his face, you were both reminded of the weed that the Digitalli family was supposedly growing. It was possible that the chef had gotten his fix from a local dealer, but it still raised a few questions.

You continued to eat, mostly in silence, savoring the sunlight and delicious food. By the time you had finished, you checked your dummy phone (which you had ordered online after the airplane incident) and startled at the time. It was 11 AM, which meant if you wanted to be ready for the big lunch the rest of the retreat guests were attending, you were going to have to bust your tail to get there.

Bucky noticed your concern.

"We'll be okay, Pink. If we're a little late, it won't matter. And if you want, I can do your hair while you do makeup..." He trailed off at the end, like he regretted what he had said.

"That would be great! When you braided my hair last time, it turned out beautiful. Still don't know how you did it, though."

"I had sisters," he mumbled, weaving his way through the other patrons.

You didn't know he had sisters. You wanted to ask, but figured it would be too painful. Instead, you followed him around corners and down hallways in the building, until you reached your rooms. Bucky followed you inside yours, where you had left your stuff the night before. You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw the nightstand. Michelle's picture was gone.

"It's gone, isn't it?" He asked, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Yeah."

You shook yourself, trying to forget, and rooted through your luggage before pulling out a simple, professional red dress and some matching red heels. Lucky for you, Bucky had taken the same amount of time to get ready as it had taken you to brush your teeth, so he was already done and had all the time in the world to help you.

"I'm just gonna... Change in the bathroom for a sec. Be right out."

He nodded, and plopped himself down on your bed.

It took a lot less time to get ready than you had expected with Bucky's help. You still had ten minutes to get there, and you figured better early than late, so you left with him in tow. 

On your way out, you locked the door, though it probably wouldn't matter anyway, and took off at a brisk pace down the hallway, Bucky at your arm. The idea of someone having such easy access to your room sent shivers down your spine, and made you glad that you had spent the night with him. 

When you turned a corner, you were brought to a halt by nearly running into another guest. 

"I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't see you there!" Said Louisa Henshaw, standing not two feet in front of you, apparently back from her vacation in Jamaica.

 

_______

 

_Something felt harsh on your skin. It was scratching at your cheek, trying to wake you up. To hide from this monster (the morning sunlight), you snuggled deeper into whatever you were holding. Whatever you were holding took a deep breath, and shifted a little. It took a few minutes for you to realize that you were attached to Bucky Barnes, face tucked into his chest, clutching his shirt like a small child, legs intertwined with his. And it took a little longer to realize that the weight you were feeling across your waist and around your back was his metal arm, holding you close. His other was raised above your head on the pillow, like he was shielding you. The more conscious you became, the more you heard his heartbeat, felt breath exiting his nose that was stuffed into your hair, and smelled his specific scent._

_Maybe you should've wriggled free, but it felt so perfect, so comfortable. You wanted to stay like this forever._

_But Bucky woke up soon, and began stroking your arm in an attempt to get you moving. You sighed, clutched his shirt even tighter, and snuggled as close to him as physically possible. You were so close that the soft chuckle he released shook your whole body._

_"It's time to wake up, doll," he murmered against your scalp, and it felt like your whole body had been set on fire. This was such an intimate moment; one you had never been allowed before now. You had never woken up like this. And you didn't want it to end. Desperately, you clung to him, willing him to fall back asleep so you'd never have to leave._

_"I know you're awake," he said, and you could feel his smile._

_"Okay," you said, and stayed put._

_For a moment, your partner allowed it. After all, it had been a long long time since he had held a girl like this. But even in the past, it had never been quite so...soft. There had always been this desperate need for sex, or a pervading discomfort or awkwardness. But when he held you, it was like the stars had aligned, and there was nowhere he'd rather be._

_It was perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!!


	19. Running Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are forced to leave the Digitally gardens when Bucky is almost killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooooooo during the school year, I could tell myself and everyone else that I never updated just because I didn't have the time. But I was lying to myself. I have the time, and I still don't update enough.  
> Anyway, this chapter is longer than my typical chapters are, so I hope you enjoy the extra content.

There was Louisa Henshaw, standing in front of you as if nothing had happened.

"Mrs. Henshaw?" You said, leaning forward. 

Recognition flashed on her face. "Oh, I almost didn't recognize you two!"

You could tell she had to control her features. There was a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes now.

"It's been a few months, Mrs. Henshaw," Bucky noted. "How are you?" He was always the suave one, totally calm.

"Well, I'm doing just fine. Fancy meeting you here -- are you two on a little vacation?"

"Well," you said slowly, and decided to tell as much of the truth as possible. "We were planning to stay nearby with some associates of a friend of mine to ease the stress of the case. Unfortunately, our friend..."

You had begun to trail off, the memory of Derek Lane's body flooding your senses. But before you could go too far, Bucky brushed his hand along your upper back, grounding you again.

"Our friend," you continued, straightening your spine, "was murdered just last night."

Mrs. Henshaw's eyes widened, and her mouth formed an "o", but there was something about the way she glanced away quickly that made you realize she knew exactly what had happened. People in shock don't look away. And, hadn't you seen her the night of the incident?

"So, one of the Digitalli family personally offered to let our group stay here. It's much more relaxing than the old hotel we were staying in." There he went again, saving you.

Louisa nodded slowly and intently.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. But I'm glad you're able to rest while you're here."

"Thank you," you nodded. "Well, I think we should be moving. We have a lunch to get to!" You patted Mrs. Henshaw's shoulder lightly, and Bucky smiled warmly, before you both took off around the corner. You were going to be late.

 

____________

 

You let out a frustrated sigh, back slumped against the headboard of Bucky's bed. The whole day had been exhausting, full of boring and time-consuming trips to various buildings and halls and memorials and gardens and fountains and topiary and absolutely no clues. One elderly woman in the group, Mrs. Bothner, had talked your ear off for a good three hours before falling victim to "heat stroke" (it was sixty degrees in the fall), and when she or a creepy old man weren't talking you up, you were too busy glaring at Al Mackenzie and trying to find evidence before him to really enjoy the nationally acclaimed gardens. Through it all, Bucky had been close by your side, never wavering. He had been silent most of the time, and you didn't want to disturb him. He knew what he was doing.

And now, he had gone off on his own to do a little exploring. You had asked him not too, claiming that it was too risky, even though you wanted nothing more than to have David Digitalli behind bars or dead. Now, sitting alone in your partner's bedroom, you realized that maybe you had wanted him to stay because you couldn't bear being alone. Since discovering the picture frame, you had always been with someone, whether it was Bucky, a seemingly innocent staff member, or one of the other guests. And you usually prided yourself with being completely independent, and were satisfied with the fact that you always completed a job on your own. But just a couple of months around Bucky, and you were having withdrawals. Sure, it was difficult to navigate with an extra person. You had to communicate and make decisions together, which had never been your strong suit. But there was also a sense of security in having someone else with you. With Bucky around, your back was always being watched. He noticed things you didn't. And even though he could get on your nerves, it was nice to have one person who you knew would make you ramen when your world began turning upside down.

The idea of having a partner was growing on you. And, though you hated to admit it, you were really enjoying it. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Why had you hated working with other people so much in the past?

One of the many answers to that question came in the form of a phonec whose ringing startled you, almost throwing you off the bed. You picked the dummy phone up, and took a deep breath before answering.

"Hello?"

"Look out your window."

A shiver flew down your spine, and your whole body went cold and rigid. You had heard that voice before. But where?

"I beg your pardon?"

"Look out your window," the gravely voice repeated. You knew it was risky to comply. But not doing as you were told might also have consequences.

With a calm that you weren't aware you possessed, you crept over to the window. You pulled the curtains back slowly with the tips of your fingers, gazing out over the gardens. In one of the sectioned-off areas, hidden from the lower levels by a massive hedge, were two men. One sat in his knees, hunched over, head hung. The second man stood tall and lanky, holding a gun to the first man's head, and a phone to his own ear. You couldn't make out either face in the shadows of the night.

When the voice in the phone spoke again, the first man lifted his head and looked straight into your window. Bucky.

"Listen carefully. I can shoot your man right in the head if I want. So let me make one thing clear: you're not welcome here. You can leave, forget this happened, and move on with your lives. If you don't, I'll kill you both. Starting with Mr. Barnes right here."

You gulped. You couldn't imagine what had happened for Bucky to be sitting like that. He was the Winter Soldier for crying out loud, how had this man beaten him? You wanted to yell and fight because this wasn't just a job anymore: you wanted justice for Michelle. But the look on Bucky's face shook you to your core. He was scared.

"So, how does this work?" You asked, struggling to speak. Your throat was suddenly very dry.

"You and Mr. Barnes pack up your things. Leave tonight. Take the first flight, train, whatever out of here, and never look back."

"Okay."

You watched the mystery man release Bucky, and disappear into the gardens. You followed your partner with your eyes as he limped slowly back to the building you were staying in, then rushed to get your things once the door closed behind him. If you had your things ready to go by the time he made it back to his room, you could leave immediately.

You dragged your suitcase and other bags into his room, not even stopping to close your bedroom door. You shoved your belongings into random bags, not bothering to separate you and Bucky's things. You could hear him slowly making his way up the stairs, but decided not to help him. You needed to avoid making a scene as much as possible.

The moment he stepped through the threshold, however, you flung yourself into his arms.

"Bucky," you whispered, trying to pull him close. He winced. You pulled away, inspecting him carefully. You couldn't see much through his long sleeve and jeans, but there was blood staining his navy shirt where it was torn. The skin showed where a bullet had grazed his shoulder.

"We need to get you bandaged up."

You didn't bother asking any questions. Normally, you might have refused to go anywhere or do anything until you knew the full picture. But something about seeing the man you had so quickly learned to trust bleeding scared you.

You pulled a first aid kit from your suitcase, and motioned for him to sit. Tense silence filled the room while you cleaned his wound. He didn't flinch.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as you wrapped the bandage around his arm. "I could have beat him in a fight, but, he--he... He has men everywhere. He showed me security footage of each room and hallway, including ours. There's peepholes everywhere where a sniper could fit a gun through. Never seen anything like it. In vents, in closets, behind beds. He had one aimed at you--"

"It's okay. We're getting out of here." You heard what he said, but your brain refused to process it. Maybe you were just too tired.

Once Bucky was bandaged up, you threw bags over shoulders, pulled the rollerboards behind you, and left the building as quickly as you could. The Digitalli gardens were near a main road not far from Seattle, and you didn't dare take the time to steal a car. So instead, you walked. You weren't sure how long it took, but you made it to a little town with shops and houses and a bus stop.

Everything was quiet, and the Autumn chill began to creep up on you. But you remained still and rigid, focused on getting away. Even after you boarded the bus, even during the ride, and even after you got off in downtown Seattle, you stayed silent and still. Bucky was the same. You were both in survival mode.

You didn't remember buying the plane tickets for tomorrow, or checking into the hotel. The next thing you knew, you were sitting on one of two twin beds in a musty yellow hotel room on the eighth floor. Bucky was sitting on the other.

In that moment, when your brain finally resumed functioning, you saw red. You had just left the Digitalli gardens that were the center of everything just because your partner had been threatened with a gun. Sure, maybe it only happened because there were other guns pointed at you, but it pissed you off that your greatest lead had just slipped through your fingers.

You yanked your dummy phone from your pocket, and hurled it at the wall across from you, narrowly missing the TV. It smacked into the yellow paint, screen shattering, pieces flying. You wanted to scream or cry or something, but you were too angry for that.

You now remembered one of the reasons why caring for someone wasn't an option: because it made you weak. One look at Bucky's scared face, and you had left your biggest job ever.

"Fucking douchebag," you hissed, letting yourself fall back onto the pillows.

You weren't sure if you were referring to the mystery man, Bucky, or yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I really like how this chapter turned out. I know, it's cruel, because they finally had a big opportunity and it was taken away, but don't worry. I have a plan.  
> For anyone who's wondering, Al Mackenzie will come into play a little bit more in the future. And everything will work out in the end.  
> Please please PLEASE let me know what you think about this story as a whole, or just this chapter. Your comments keep me going.  
> Have a wonderful night my lovelies!!


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